Percy's Bullies
by Liana Legaspi
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on Percy's bullies. Chapter 1: While working at Caribou, Nancy recognizes an old rival. Chapter 2: Clarisse meets a chip-toothed punk. Chapter 3: Sloan meets his old nemesis in unlikely circumstances. Chapter 4: Isabel Gonzalez. Chapter 5: The "Old Sot." Chapter 6: Octavian. Chapter 7: Drew Tanaka. Chapter 8: Gabe Ugliano. Chapter 9: ?
1. Nancy Bobofit

In the span of 5 years, Nancy Bobofit had jumped from being a gawky, ugly little thing with frizzy red hair and crooked teeth to being the prettiest girl at her school. Everyone loved her; everyone wanted to be her friend. Boys would whistle and call her hot, and the girls would watch jealously from the corners. Hearts would flutter when she smiled at the world, and then they'd break in sympathy when she was disappointed. Nancy was attractive, and she knew it. Flaunted it really.

But the girl that Nancy was serving was _really _pretty. Beautiful even. Nancy wasn't usually the kind of girl to be jealous, after all, she was the prettiest and most popular girl at Yancy, but _this_ customer…

Nancy had learned the hard way that people who weren't of the opposite sex didn't like to be stared at by her, but she simply couldn't help it.

The girl was tall and slender, and had a figure that made Nancy feel ashamed. Even though she was just in a white tank top, shorts, and just a hint of mascara, she looked like she belonged in a photo-shoot for the cover of a beauty magazine. Her hair was long, curly, and blonde, and it fell down her back like a princess's. Nancy made a mental note to bleach her hair rather than dye it brown again; too many people at her school were copying her now anyways. But what really made the blonde stand out were her intelligent, stormy grey eyes.

"Large espresso and small Mint Verbena Tea for…" Nancy glanced down at the name label. "Annabette?''

The blonde's eyebrow rose, and the barista's face felt hot. "It's _Annabeth_," she corrected, her voice smooth and clear like a queen's. The girl took her espresso and tea with a bored yet polite smile. Then she curled up on one of the couches and began to read a book about the size of a dictionary.

Nancy squinted. She tried to read the title, but the letters were either too small or the font was weird. Annabeth felt the other girl's stare and looked up at her, uninterested. "May I help you?"

The brunette blushed furiously again and shook her head. This girl was intimidating and meeting her gaze made the barista feel like she was thirteen again, caught by a her mom mid-pickpocket. Nancy made a mental note to ever think blondes were promiscuous idiots ever again. "No, sorry, I was just—"

Her co-worker, Eddie, nudged her roughly. "You and Barbie can chit-chat later," he drawled condescendingly.

Annabeth's eyebrow twitched at the nickname and she looked at the other barista like she was preparing to dissect him. Even though the gaze wasn't directed at her, Nancy felt a chill go down her back. Eddie winked at her then looked back at the brunette. "Well?" he said tauntingly.

Nancy glared at him. "Shut up, you creepy little…" The insult died in her mouth when she saw another customer step into the Caribou. The barista had gone through quite a few boyfriends already, and she was currently trying to go steady with Yancy's star quarterback. But _this_ customer was gorgeous.

He had messy, black waves except for one lock of grey hair, but even that couldn't spoil his looks. He was fit and tan, and made all the other boys at Nancy's school look ugly. But what really caught the barista's attention were his eyes, as cliché as it sounded. She couldn't really tell if they were blue or green, but they were so unique, she couldn't help but stare. But something felt familiar about him. Like the way his smile spread a little more to the left than the right, and the way his two front teeth weren't _perfectly_ straight but _somehow _managed to look cute anyways.

Nancy shoved the black coffee to her costumer with a quick "Have a nice day," and started to fix her brown locks while quickly jotting her number onto a sticky note for name labels. She normally preferred it when the guys made the first move, but there was no way she'd let this one get away. Nancy was already imagining bringing the boy to a school dance, all of the other girls would be even more jealous and—

The boy walked right passed Nancy. He smiled, pearly white teeth shining, and the brunette's heart fluttered. She could've stood there all day staring at the boy, but Annabeth chose that moment to stand up. The blonde closed her dinosaur of a book, grabbed her drinks and strolled over to the boy.

"Here," she said, handing him the espresso.

The boy grinned even wider, and he planted a kiss Annabeth on the lips. Nancy's heart dropped to her stomach, and she barely heard Eddie groan in disappointment next to her. Of _course _the beautiful blonde would be dating the hot guy.

His face scrunched up adorably after he pulled away, and the blonde laughed. "Tea, Annabeth? Really?"

The girl rolled her eyes but it was obvious that wasn't upset. "If Rachel were here she'd kill you for saying that." Annabeth took her boyfriend's hand and led him to the loveseat.

"Has Leo I-Med you?" she asked, sipping her tea and curling into her boyfriend. He hugged her closer to his side, and smiled into her curly locks. A stab of jealousy flared in Nancy's stomach, and she glared at the couple. Why could none of her boyfriends be like that?

"Yeah, the construction's going great. They had a little set back with the Aphrodite-Venus cabin, but still..." He shrugged.

Annabeth bit her cherry red lips. "And my designs are okay? There's not too much Greek architecture over Roman?"

"They're amazing," he said honestly, "everyone's..." He trailed off, and slowly turned his head to stare at Nancy. The barista wondered when she got so bad at being subtle, she used to _pickpocket_ people for Christ's sake. Nancy flushed for the third time that day and looked away.

Eddie snorted, and muttered, "Smooth."

"Shut up," she hissed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy furrow his eyebrows. "Do I know you? You look sort of familiar."

Nancy eyed the boy. If the brunette did, she doubted she'd forget him. "No, but you look familiar," she admitted. Maybe she'd seen him walking around New York or something. Maybe the mall? "What's your name?"

Annabeth, who was watching the exchange with a neutral expression, met Nancy's common green eyes. Her full lips were set in a way that told the barista _Don't even think about it, I've worked way too hard to get him_. "This is Percy, _my boyfriend_," she said.

It hit Nancy like a freight train, and she dropped the White Chocolate Mocha she had been making. The costumer cursed and glowered at her as she stooped to clean up the mess, muttering apologies.

Percy...she hadn't thought about the loser in so long, but she never forgot about him. He was the little, troll-haired wimp with the unnerving eyes that always got on Nancy's nerves when they were 12. He was the boy that would stand up for other losers like that Grover kid. Nancy vaguely recalled having a dart board with a picture of him duct taped to it.

Eddie gave her a hard stare and handed her customer a new coffee with an apologetic smile. The man scowled and snatched his drink away, muttering about teenagers.

The couple was staring at Nancy. Percy inconspicuously slipped his hand into his pocket the same time his girlfriend tensed. "Who are you?" he asked a little hesitantly.

"Uh, I'm Nancy," she said. She winced when the whipped cream spilled over the side of the cup. "Just, your last name wouldn't happen to be Jackson? Would it?"

Annabeth looked coiled like a spring. Her grey eyes were hard, calculating, and cold, and Nancy thought that the girl was more than just a _little_ possessive of her boyfriend. The blonde was looking at her like she'd freaking grown claws and fangs for God's sake. Percy however, looked like Nancy had straight up slapped him.

"_Nancy Bobofit_?" he asked incredulously.

Any doubts of who the—though it now pained her to admit it—attractive boy was, were wiped away. She felt unbelievably stupid for checking out her old middle school rival and horribly embarrassed just thinking about how much of a _jerk_ she was back then.

"You look different," he said. "I almost didn't recognize you." Judging from the tone of his voice, Nancy figured that Percy wished he hadn't.

"Yeah," she said, playing with straightened lock of hair, "kind of changed my look."

"Thank god," Eddie muttered.

Nancy ignored him. "I almost didn't recognize you," she repeated his words uncomfortably and forced a small laugh. "You've really changed." _Oh, the wonders of puberty_, she thought.

"Yeah, well, you know…" Percy and Annabeth shared a secretive look that irritated the brunette. "…stuff."

"Like what?" she asked, partially because she wanted to keep the conversation going for some unknown reason, and partially because she was curious. What could possibly turn a loser like Percy Jackson into, well…this.

"I went to a military camp."

Nancy raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?" It didn't matter what he looked like now, or if he'd matured any. Percy Jackson could barely stay in a school for _troubled_ kids let alone a strict military school.

Percy gave her one of his sarcastic, troublemaker smiles that used to make the brunette's blood boil. But now, Nancy felt like it was one of the best things she'd ever seen. Much to both of their surprise, he winked. "It's kind of a program for special kids."

Annabeth snorted, and the brunette wondered if the boy was being sarcastic or not. But then again…if any place could take on the legendary delinquent that was Percy Jackson, it _would_ have to be a school for "special" children. Nancy was just debating whether to ask if Annabeth was in the school too for hostile tendencies when the blonde's phone started beeping.

She pulled it out and after staring at the screen for a few seconds, she mumbled something to her boyfriend that Nancy either didn't understand or hear correctly. Annabeth stood up gracefully. "Percy," she said, "could you…"

He nodded once. "Blackjack and Porkpie are already on their way." He took the blonde's hand and led her out of the coffee shop before Nancy could ask where they were going and who the heck named their children Blackjack and Porkpie. But just before the door swung shut behind him, he smiled at the barista. A genuine one that Nancy had only ever seen directed to Grover and Mr. Brunner. "Nice seeing you, Nancy."

She smiled back after a beat of surprised silence. "You too, Prissy."

Percy laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard, and it never used to make him angry when he was in sixth grade. The last thing Nancy saw of the couple was Percy slinging his arm over Annabeth's shoulder and staring up at the sky in expectation.

The barista shook her head. If she had learned anything in sixth grade, it was that Percy Jackson was a strange one. He had knack for pushing the buttons of all the wrong people, and was a little wild and rebellious from what she remembered. But he stuck up for Grover even though he was just a stupid, held-back teenager with a weird leg disease.

Percy Jackson was never at the top of the class. He was never what girls would call "cute," or guys "cool." But now Nancy Bobofit couldn't help but think she missed out on having one of the greatest friends in her entire life.

(After her shift was over, Nancy made herself a large espresso and curled up on the couch.)

* * *

**I might write more chapters focusing on characters other than just Nancy and Matt because there were probably more bullies in Percy's life other than just those two. If you don't mind other bullies being OCs, then I'll try to turn this into a collection of drabbles. But I'm going to be up at a friend's cabin for a while so I won't be able to post anything anyways. Tell me what you thought of it, reviews are always loved and appreciated.**

**Question: Should I do a story on why or how the Mist was made? Or could someone write one and PM it to me? 'Cause back then, I thought that all the mortals could see the monsters, so…**


	2. Clarisse La Rue

Clarisse didn't like a lot of things. She didn't like when two idiots named the Stolls pranked her cabin. She didn't like it when the newbies were so overconfident to think that they could actually beat _her_. And she definitely didn't like it when "tough guys" passing her in the school hallways snickered at her.

It was bad enough that she had to go to the same school as _Prissy_, but putting up with a bunch of _boys_ who thought that just because she was a girl, she couldn't knock their heads in? Yeah, right.

The daughter of Ares growled. "You got a problem with me, punk?"

The leader of the "popular kids" turned around and gave her chip-toothed grin. "Eh, not really. Me and my buddies were just thinking that every girl's got the right to look ugly, but you abuse the privilege."

Her face felt hot, and all she saw was red. _That little…_ Clarisse had been picked on her entire life for not looking naturally beautiful like all the other demigods, and honestly, she had gotten sick of it. For Zeus' sake, she was the daughter of a war god, not some beauty guru. She was born to be a warrior and kill monsters and save the world, so excuse her if she didn't have enough time to paint her face with a bunch of crap.

Clarisse's nostrils flared, and she sized him up. He wasn't much; small, not nearly as strong as _any_ of the boys at camp. He had tiny pitbull eyes that she would've loved to poke out with a fork and scraggly black hair. Overall, with his leather jacket and spike-studded clothes, he looked like a kid trying too hard to be "cool." She could take on fifty of him with her eyes sewn shut and still be able to put up a good fight against Jason. Mortals.

The daughter of Ares bared her teeth and towered over him, and he shrunk back, eyes wide and mouth open like a fish. She grabbed him by his lame skull shirt and yanked him off of the ground. His cronies fell back, looking honestly scared of her. Typical. All bark and no bite. What's happening to the world? "You wanna go outside, punk—"

"Clarisse!" someone yelled. "Put the kid down."

The brunette scowled. Of course Prissy would show up _now_, she blamed the boy's stupid hero instincts. If it were anyone else, the daughter of Ares would've ignored the idiot poking into other people's business and drag the punk outside, but this _was_ the son of Poseidon. Clarisse slowly set the boy back on his feet, not breaking eye contact. He swallowed nervously. After giving him one last glare, she released him.

He stumbled back, gasping, and straightening his tacky punk clothes that would've made Thalia cringe. After a moment of shock, he grinned shakily and started laughing like _she_ was the one who almost peed her pants.

"I'd love to go out with you," he said, cocky smile still in place, "but I'm straight."

Clarisse roared and lunged for him, but Percy stepped in front of the punk just in time. "Clarisse," he whispered, "I know that kid. Trust me, he's not worth it so let's just—"

"Holy crap," the kid said, jaw slack. "Guys, check it. It's Percy Jackson."

Percy smiled but it looked more like a grimace to the daughter of Ares. He looked back to the smaller boy. "Hi, Sloan."

Sloan guffawed, and the sound grated on Clarisse's nerves. "Little Percy Jackson," he said tauntingly. "What is this? Your twentieth school?" He glanced at the brunette. "Is that your new loser buddy?"

Oh, please, they were barely _friendly _allies. Clarisse snarled. "You better watch your back, punk."

"I'm terrified," he drawled.

"Let's go, Clarisse," Percy muttered, already dragging her away.

The daughter of Ares stared at him. Yes, Jackson could be a little girly sometimes, but in certain situations, his temper was as bad as hers. He didn't take crap from anyone, not even Zeus himself; something Clarisse could respect. So why in Hades was he letting this punk get away with mocking him?

"Yeah, you better run, Jackson!" Sloan yelled from down the hall, his cronies cheering him on. "Like you _always_ do."

"Please, let me kill him," Clarisse muttered, letting the boy lead her to the band hall. "I'll do it quickly. He won't feel a thing."

Percy gave her look that told Clarisse that he didn't believe her for a second.

"Promise?" she tried.

The son of Poseidon shook his head. "Matt Sloan isn't worth the trouble," he repeated. "Seriously. He's just a jerk, ignore him."

"You said you knew him," Clarisse accused.

Percy looked like he was eating something sour. "Yeah, when I was 13…school bully."

The brunette blinked. "You're joking."

The son of Poseidon gave her a lopsided smile. "Wish I was."

The idea of someone _else_ picking on the punk when he was a kid surprised her. Yeah, _she_ used to haze him too when he was smaller than her, but _mortals_ bullying a son of Poseidon seemed ridiculous. When he was younger, he was short and scrawny, and therefore an easy target, but _still_, Percy was – though Clarisse would sooner marry Polyphemus than admit it out loud – the most powerful demigod of the century. He was fighting Furies, the Minotaur, Medusa, and the _war god_ when he was _twelve_.

Clarisse snorted and shook her head in disgust. "Even _you_ could pound that kid into a pulp, Prissy."

Percy shrugged and glanced down. "Why bother? I mean, yeah, Sloan drove me crazy, and I _wanted _to fight him but…" He shrugged. "Well, look at him."

The daughter of Ares craned her neck to get a look at her frenemy's old bully. His beady eyes shone a little crazily, and Clarisse thought that with his large front teeth and angled face, he looked like a rat. He was leaned up against a locker, flirting with a blonde who obviously wasn't interested. Sloan bent forward to whisper something in the girl's ear, and she shrieked, slapping him across the face so hard that he fell on his butt.

The girl quickly walked away, holding her books to her chest. Sloan's buddies quickly helped their leader up from the floor, and he was hurriedly yelled profanities after the blonde that not even _Clarisse_ would repeat. Then, after the poor girl turned the corner, Sloan waved his hand dismissively like he wasn't just _begging_ to get in her skirt 10 seconds ago.

It was one of the most pitiful displays Clarisse had ever seen. And she'd met Octavian.

"See?" Percy asked. "He's just a jerk, a mortal one. He got on my nerves faster than Ares loses his temper" – Clarisse glared at him – "but in the long run, nothing he said or did really mattered."

"What chick-flick did you get that from?"

The son of Poseidon blushed. "You know what I mean."

"Not really," Clarisse informed him. And _oh_, she wanted to kill Sloan. But she was already being held back a few grades from being constantly kicked out of school, and Chiron _ordered_ her not to ruin her chances at Goode. With Percy's new stepdad as a teacher, Clarisse and Percy could have a respected adult cover for them if there were any…incidents. But the centaur doubted that even Paul could save Clarisse from being expelled if she blatantly got into a fight. "But whatever, _Prissy_, I'll let Sloan go. But I swear, if he even looks at me funny again, I am going to gut him like a fish."

Percy sighed in frustration. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, stupid, you've already told me that." But Clarisse's mind was elsewhere, back to when she first met the child of the prophecy, when she, coincidentally, tried to dunk his head in the toilet.

"_Well!" Clarisse yelled, eyes shining with glee. "A newbie!"_

_The princess and the bigshot Minotaur slayer turned at the same time toward Clarisse. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed and no one could blame her. The boy was short for an eleven year old and he was twelve. His arms were like twigs, and it looked like she could snap his neck with one hand. This kid didn't look like anything the entire camp was making him out to be. Big Three material? Please._

"_Clarisse,"Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"_

_The daughter of Ares smirked. "Sure, Miss Princess. So I can run you through with it Friday night."_

"Erre es korakas!" _she snapped, eyes flashing. When the boy flinched, Clarisse wondered if maybe it wasn't such a good idea for Annabeth to use such colorful insults in front of the new kids. "You don't stand a chance."_

_It took all of the older girl's willpower not to flinch at the fierce look the blonde was giving her. "We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye was twitching slightly because the last time – oh gods, the _last_ Capture the Flag was a _disaster _for the red team. She turned toward the newbie. "Who's this little runt?"_

_The daughter of Athena straightened a little. "Percy Jackson meet Clarisse, daughter of Ares."_

_Clarisse snorted at the punk's stupid name while Percy blinked. "Like…the war god?"_

Well, this one's an idiot, _the brunette thought. She sneered at the tone of his voice. "You got a problem with that?"_

"_No," he said, and Clarisse might've thought that he was actually trying to suck up to her if it wasn't for the defiant shine in his eye. "It explains that bad smell."_

_The daughter of Ares' eyes widened and she stared. Campers tried to stay on her good side, and strangers knew to steer clear of her. No one was stupid enough to insult her. Ever. Then again, this kid tried to take on a Minotaur by himself so Clarisse supposed he was a little challenged. She growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."_

"_Percy," he corrected, as if the princess didn't _just_ tell her so._

"_Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."_

_Annabeth got a worried look in her eye. "Clarisse—"_

"_Stay out of it, wise girl."_

_The daughter of Athena looked like she'd rather be stuck on kitchen duty for the rest of the year than listen to Clarisse, but she backed down. The blonde gave the bigger girl a glare that said _Don't mess him up too much, I might need him.

_Prissy handed something dark and jagged to Annabeth, and steeled himself for a fight. But before the boy could even register what was happening, Clarisse already had him by the neck. He kicked and punched, but really, it was like holding a grumpy kitten. His hits were sloppy and weak, and he was just a bag of bones. But his eyes had a resigned sort of look to them, like he was completely used to being the fresh meat._

As the two demigods walked back to class, Clarisse kept replaying the memory over and over again in her head. _Maybe_, she thought, _Percy's mortal life wasn't as great as it seemed._

And – dare she say it – she felt guilty. Clarisse had _never_ in her entire life been the recipient of wedgies and swirlies, she was more of the supplier. She'd never had to go through the humiliation of being picked on _anywhere_. But Clarisse couldn't help but wish, just a little bit, that she had let Prissy off of his initiation.

Rumors were rumors and they were only meant for the children of Aphrodite, but there _was_ talk of the son of Poseidon being abused when he was younger. Of course, the older campers and friends of Percy snuffed out that gossip instantly, couldn't have their leader looking weak. But Clarisse couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn't just some cruel lie Drew made up.

And now, seeing evidence that Percy had bully issues, _yeah_, Clarisse felt bad about the toilet and Capture the Flag incidents. Almost bad enough to actually _apologize_ to Prissy.

_But_, she thought as she glanced at the boy, _he's not a little kid_ _anymore. _He was inches taller than Clarisse now, but that wasn't all. His time fighting had made him stronger, bigger. Percy's eyes told a story of an adventure and not an easy one. The son of Poseidon didn't let mortals walk over him just because he wasn't _allowed_ to hurt the puny humans, but because it honestly _didn't_ matter to him.

Percy Jackson was the hero of Olympus. He was the son of Poseidon. He saved the world more times than Clarisse could count, and he led demigods to victory on a yearly basis. But most impressive, he was brave (or stupid enough) to date Annabeth Chase, the favorite daughter of his dad's greatest rival (the little punk). Nothing could change that. _Especially_ not a rat-faced wannabe-Thalia.

"Percy," Clarisse started, then she snapped her mouth shut. What was she doing? Heart-to-hearts were for wimps and teenage girls who _liked_ drama.

"Yeah?"

She mulled over her words. "Next time we spar, I'm going to need to team up with Jason." It was as close to an apology and a compliment as Clarisse was ever going to get, and Jackson would just have to be smart enough to understand what she really meant.

The daughter of Ares mentally thanked the Annabeth for rubbing off on him when Percy's eyes shone with realization. "Yeah, got it."

And the frenemies walked down the halls of Goode side by side, ignoring Sloan's taunts and jabs. Because honestly? What could a punk have against the Drakon Slayer and the boyfriend of Annabeth Chase?

Clarisse, for once in her _entire_ life, walked away from a fight.

!

**I. Am. So. Sorry. I meant for this to be Sloan's chapter and it popped out as Clarisse's (figures). I'm not sure when exactly I realized that I wasn't writing about Sloan anymore, but by the time I finished, I didn't have enough time to make his. I'll make a different chapter with Sloan in it because he was seriously a really good bully, and this wasn't really about him. At all. Once again, so sorry.**

**I'm walking out the door as I post this, but please review! And a huge thanks to just-AWESOME-old-me for answering my question from Chapter 1.**


	3. Matt Sloan

Matt Sloan was _never_ a good swimmer, but he took the job anyways.

Honestly, what choice did he have? His parents practically disowned him for wrecking his third sports car. Like it even made a dent in their wallets, the Sloan family was _loaded_. But nevertheless, they kicked him out. Not permanently – no. They still needed someone to carry on the family business lest the Dares take full control, so they let their son sleep at home. But that was it. Food, clothes, luxuries, he'd have to find a way to get those himself. And that meant getting a job.

No one would take him.

All Sloan's jobs as a waiter ended with an angry manager and even angrier customers. He couldn't balance a stupid tray so the cooks absolutely hated him for wasting so much of their good food. He didn't have the patience to serve _other_ people. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be waited on. Matt Sloan did _not_ put up with snot-nosed little kids and stupid people who couldn't make up their minds on what they wanted to eat. Not even MacDonalds wanted to keep him.

Being a cashier didn't really work out either. Sloan just could not keep his mouth shut when a girl who was _obviously_ an XL got a size small. Then, there was that one incident with the ugly dude who was buying…protection. Needless to say, he was fired immediately.

Sloan even tried getting a job as a barista. He liked coffee, and the job was actually kind of bearable. But he could _not_ stand that Nancy chick. She was annoying and snippy and her voice was so _high_. The heir of the Sloan fortune didn't even last a day there.

So when his dad got him a job as a lifeguard at Montauk, he took it. Yes, they already had a lifeguard, but Sloan _wanted_ the job. Being a lifeguard paid well enough, and it sounded easy. Other than Sloan, who _didn't _know how to swim anyways? It wasn't like he'd have to get in the water, so all he'd have to do is chill on a beach and work on his tan. Plus, there'd be _tons_ of hot girls in bikinis, and chicks liked lifeguards.

After getting a cute blonde's number, Sloan climbed up his tower and closed his eyes, thinking that the job would be a piece of cake and his parents would let him back in any time now. He had no idea what to think when he heard shrieking.

He peeked open one eye and looked over the beach. It was a little chaotic. Sand was flying everywhere. People were running around frantically, some running out of the water, others into it. Then there was the screaming.

"Someone has to help them!"

"What happened?"

"They're going to drown!"

"They're too far away!"

Just people being stupid. Sloan's eyes closed before jerking open again. _What now?_ he thought irritably. He glanced down at a young girl – maybe eleven or twelve – tugging on his foot. Her red hair was disheveled, her eyes were wide, and her blue painted nails were digging into his skin.

He shook her off roughly and snapped, "What?"

The girl swallowed. "The riptides – two kids were dragged out, I-we can't even see them anymore. You _have_ to help them!"

After the information sunk in, Sloan shifted uncomfortably on his stand. "Sorry, not happening, kid."

The redhead's mouth dropped open. "_What_?"

"They're too far," he said. His was tone nonchalant, but on the inside, Sloan was panicking. What the heck was he supposed to do? He was a horrible swimmer, and if the girl couldn't even _see_ the two stupid kids anymore, how could he possibly save them? Not the mention the riptides.

The girl's green eyes flashed murderously. "It's your _job_, jerk. So save them."

The lifeguard's temper flared. "I can't swim," Sloan snapped, blushing furiously

The redhead stared at him blankly. "_Then how the heck did you get this job_?"

"Matt!" Sloan groaned inwardly and turned to face the blonde who gave him her number earlier, Regina. She climbed halfway up the tower to perch next to the redhead. "Matt, what are you _waiting_ for?"

"Regina—"

"My brother is out there! He needs help, _go_!"

The lifeguard winced. Of course it was Regina's brother who was drowning. Stupid kids. Couldn't they _avoid _the currents or something? Was that too much to ask for?

"Yeah, your boyfriend _can't_ swim," the redhead spat venomously and mockingly, not looking away from Sloan. He gave her his death glare, but she didn't even flinch.

Regina's face scrunched in slight disgust, like an eighteen year-old boy that couldn't swim was the biggest turn off ever. "You can't?"

The lifeguard opened his mouth to speak but his voice wasn't working.

The girl glared at him and clenched her teeth. "Can't you do _anything_?" she hissed.

_Whispered conversations echoed against the stone walls. Girls were staring at Matt, and for once, that wasn't a good thing. Some were crowding him. Others were openly staring at him in the halls from their little cliques. _

_Matt was used to attention. He was used to people sizing him up, trying to estimate his worth, whether he could _really_ carry on the Sloan business, but _this. _This was scary._

_Matt passed a much bigger boy with his arm slung over a girl's shoulders. "There goes, little Matt," he declared tauntingly, "always sticking up for his stupid little friends."_

"_Nice eyeshadow, runt!" called another boy._

_Matt hung his head in an attempt to hide his black eye and busted lip. The boy shut his eyes and tried to block out the jeers as he stepped into the principal's office. Mr. Lambert sat behind his desk with his hands clasped tightly and his mouth set into a grim line. Mr. and Mrs. Sloan sat rigidly in their seats, hands clasped just like the principal's, but their eyes were hard and angry. Then last, and scariest, there was the police officer watching his every movement like a hawk._

_Matt stumbled to the only open chair left, wincing as he stepped on his bad leg._

_It felt like eternity until he dad spoke. "Matthew Sloan," he started, his smooth voice tense with pent up rage. "What – exactly – possessed you to push your classmate off of the roof?"_

_Matt closed his eyes as tears welled up. He could practically see the boy's body hitting the ground and going limp after he tried to get up. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "But he was hurting Leo, I couldn't just walk away. I didn't mean to hurt him—"_

_His dad slammed his hand down on Mr. Lambert's desk. "Can't you do _anything_ right, boy?"_

Sloan's face felt hot and he stood up. "Move," he said, a little shakily.

The girls blinked, and they quickly jumped off of the tower to make way for the lifeguard. After one moment of hesitation, he grabbed his boogie board and climbed down the ladder. Sloan's dark eyes stared into Regina's. "I'll get your brother," he promised, "I can do that." He was all the way down to the edge of the dock before the blonde could answer.

Sloan stared down at the water. He was _really _not a good swimmer. In fact, he hated the water. Always did…

_Matt could hear it even though he was underwater. They were laughing. They were laughing at _him_. He struggled, but the boy holding him down was just too strong. Matt tried to kick and punch, but the boy just wouldn't let him up._

Figures_, he thought, _death by toilet. I knew it'd be something humiliating. _Just when his vision started to darken, the boy yanked Matt out of the toilet. The smaller boy collapsed on the bathroom tiles and started to cough and gasp for air. His school uniform was soaked, and his black hair hung in is face. He blinked the water out of his eyes to stare up at his attackers._

_They were still laughing._

"_Oh god, what a _wimp_," one said._

"_I know right?" the other one guffawed. "He didn't even put up much of a fight."_

_The biggest boy – the one who was drowning Matt, leaned down and grabbed the boy by his wet hair. He hissed into his ear, "There's more where that came from, _Matt_. You better think twice next time you hurt one f my buddies." He kicked the youngest Sloan in the gut and strolled out of the boys' restroom flanked by his cronies, laughing all the while._

_Matt curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the day, gasping for breath even though he was no longer drowning. After that day, he never went close to the water again. He never talked to stupid Leo Valdez again._

Before Sloan could lose his nerve, he closed his eyes and rushed into the water, clutching his boogie board with both hands. He regretted even thinking about jumping as soon as he was in the air and it was too late to go back. Water rushed up his nose and into his mouth as soon as he slammed into the water. He wondered what sort of idiots _liked _swimming. Screw Little Mermaid and every other movie that portrayed the sea as a beautiful, peaceful place, it was creepy as hell and Sloan hated it.

He was about to swim back until he remembered his promise to Regina. The lifeguard bit his lip and cursed under his breath before uncoordinatedly paddling out into the sea like a demented turtle. It felt like he'd been swimming for _hours_ with the waves crashing against him, but whenever he'd looked back the shore wasn't far away at all.

He was wondering what he was doing wrong to be stuck in the same place for five minutes when a _huge _wave hit Sloan, and he clenched his teeth so hard he almost chipped another tooth. He struggled to balance himself, but before he knew it, another wave crashed on top of him. Sloan could feel his nails ripping into his boogie board as he tried to hold on to it, but it was no use. It was long gone and Matt Sloan was caught in a riptide.

He screamed and called for help and felt like a complete idiot because _he_ was the lifeguard. He shouldn't _need_ saving, that was what he was supposed to do. Then again, he was also supposed to be at home watching movies that hadn't even premiered yet and buying a new car instead of being stranded in the ocean looking for some stupid kids that couldn't get back to the stupid shore. Sloan cursed his parents not for the first time and struggled to keep his head above the water.

Where was he? He couldn't see the shore anymore, or his board, or the kids he was _supposed_ to save. Sloan knew that he hadn't been in the water for long, but his arms and legs felt like lead. Each passing second, he drifted further into the sea and stayed underwater long enough that every time he came up, he was gasping desperately for air.

Tears started to well in his eyes, and if Sloan wasn't so exhausted, he would've slapped himself. Matt Sloan was cool. He was popular, everyone wanted to either be him or be friends with him. He did _not_ cry. Crying was for wimps and people who couldn't do anything right. He wouldn't cry. Or at least, that's what Sloan told himself before he completely lost it and started bawling and yelling for help.

The next time he went under, he didn't have to strength to come up. Water surrounded him like a blanket, and his dark eyes drifted shut.

_You can't swim?_

_He's such a wimp._

_Can't you do anything right?_

Something grabbed Sloan's wrist and his eyes jerked open. Strong arms hoisted him out of the water, and the lifeguard gasped for breath greedily. Still panting, his eyes darted around until they met a familiar shade of teal.

"Hold onto me," his savior ordered. "We're not too far from the beach, just don't let go."

Sloan obeyed. Later he'd realize how out of character that was for him, but it was hard to _not_ listen to that voice. Besides, people generally tended to take advice when they almost _just _died. Sloan wrapped an arm around the bigger boy's shoulders and mumbled, "Jackson?"

"Yeah," he said, frowning a little. Percy glided through the water like it was as easy as breathing, a fact that annoyed the lifeguard. "Do I know you?"

Sloan spat salty water out of his mouth. "Matt Sloan, remember me?"

Percy's vibrant eyes widened a bit. "Oh," he said, suddenly uncomfortable.

In hindsight, revealing that he was Jackson's old school bully wasn't such a bright idea. But he _was_ Sloan, when did he ever actually _think _things through? He drove his dad's car into a sign on purpose when he was thirteen, for Christ's sake.

"Long time no see?" Percy added weakly.

Sloan barked out a bitter laugh. "Yeah 'long time,' you're probably _real_ glad about that."

His eyebrow twitched a little and his face took on an exasperated look that Sloan was familiar with. "I'm saving you, aren't I?"

The lifeguard didn't know what to say to that. Never in a million years would he have guessed the Percy Jackson would save _him_. From everything that he had done to the dyslexic kid when they were kids, Sloan wouldn't have blamed the other boy if he just dropped him back under the sea and swam away.

_But that's just so Jackson_, Sloan thought venomously, a_lways sticking his scrawny little neck out for people who just weren't worth saving, like that fat, stupid Tyson kid. _He had never said it out loud, but that was one of the reasons he had hated Percy _so much_. The delinquent reminded Sloan so much of himself before he wised up to the world and went with the flow. Picking on the weaker kids and easy targets was _much_ easier than standing up for them. Being a bully promised a tight bunch of friends, trying to be a hero promised a friend that didn't benefit him whatsoever.

Sloan tried to beat that into Percy on several occasions, like how it was beaten into him. But the boy just wouldn't budge. The more Sloan tried to convince Percy that he could be popular if he just ditched that loser, the more he clung to Tyson and stood up for the big oaf. Seeing those two together made Sloan angry and annoyed, but most of all, jealous. Jealous of the bond Percy and Tyson had shared.

"Yeah," the lifeguard said, his voice a little hoarse. His eyes started to droop a bit before his breath got caught in his throat and he gripped Percy's shoulder urgently. "There were some kids—"

"Got them already," he said. "I didn't stay to hear what the paramedics thought, but I think they'll be okay."

Sloan stared at him, jealousy bubbling in his chest. "Oh, silly me," he snapped. "Of course, you saved them already. How could Mr. Perfect fail to save someone. What was I thinking?"

Percy grit his teeth. "It's not my fault you were stupid enough to take a job that you couldn't even qualify for. Man, I thought the guy they'd replaced me with could, oh, I don't know, _swim_."

The lifeguard stared blankly. "This was your job?"

"Yeah," Percy said a little tightly. "It was, and it looks like I'm still doing it."

At that moment, a foreign feeling twisted in Sloan's gut. For once in _years_, he felt guilty. The lifeguard didn't completely know _why_ he felt bad. After all, he'd gone through high school without a conscience. Maybe it was a build-up of emotions and things he'd done wrong, or maybe it was just something a near death experience did to someone, but Sloan felt _horrible_. A guilty, crushing feeling settled on his chest.

Here was Percy Jackson, the boy who Sloan picked on at Meriwether Prep, who got he got expelled, who he stole a job from, and the loser was _saving_ him. Yeah, Percy was obviously angry with him, but who could honestly blame him? If Sloan was in his shoes, he would've dropped Percy as soon as he realized who was and swam away.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Sloan almost didn't notice when the former lifeguard was walking instead of swimming. Paramedics crowded the lifeguard, much to his embarrassment, and checked him for any injuries. Two kids were sitting side by side on a stretcher, wrapped in towels, but they were animatedly talking to their families.

Regina's little brother looked especially excited. "He was so awesome! He, like, popped out of nowhere and carried us back the _entire_ way. The water was pushing us _toward_ the shore, and I think _he_ was controlling it, Mom. Like-like Aquaman!"

A woman with blonde hair frowned at her son and placed her hand against his forehead before looking at a medic. "Are you _sure_ he's completely unharmed?"

As the young nurse reaffirmed the boy's stable condition, Sloan sluggishly looked over the beach and locked onto Percy's tall figure. He ignored the paramedics' protests and brushed them off before staggering after his old nemesis. Later, the lifeguard would blame it on swallowing too much sea water or just plain exhaustion, but as soon as he caught up to the other boy, he blurted, "I'm sorry."

Percy turned and scrutinized him. "Sloan, I think you should get your head checked again."

The chip-toothed boy ignored him and pressed on. "No, I mean it. I'm sorry for…" For making your life miserable. For mocking you for being poor. For picking on your friend. For stealing your job. Sloan had done a lot wrong, and they would've stood on the beach for _hours _if he tried to list them all. "…for _everything_," he said, honesty seeping into his voice. "Look, I…I was a brat and jerk, I admit it. And" – he sighed, rubbing the back of his head – "you just saved my life, and I didn't deserve it. I _know_ I didn't."

Standing in front of his old rival covered in sand, shivering, and dripping wet while Percy stood tall and confident, completely _dry_, Sloan felt ridiculous and pitiful. The other boy must've thought so too because his eyes softened a little and a tiny smile spread across his lips. Neither was much for hugs and apologies – heck, no. But that was okay.

"Catch you later, Sloan," Percy said. They were just four simple words and a small smile, but Sloan never felt more content. Not when he got his license, or his first girlfriend, not even when his dad _smiled_ at _him_ and clapped him on the back.

Percy walked away towards a group of a happy, good-looking teenagers, and the lifeguard almost choked on his own spit when he realized that two of them were Tyson, who was standing shyly beside a fidgeting girl with red…everything (for some reason Sloan couldn't look at her properly), and Leo, the boy he stood up for in fifth grade even though the Latino was younger and everyone thought he was a freak. After watching Percy sling his arm around a familiar looking blonde and joke around with Leo, Sloan slowly backed away from Montauk in a daze.

Percy Jackson was hero in more ways than one even though he blew up gyms and got chased around by the authorities on a yearly basis. He was stubborn, and followed the beat of his own drum instead of giving into peer pressure. He had grown from a weird little twerp to a young adult that, from the looks of it, had a lot of people that loved him.

Was Sloan jealous of Percy? Heck, yeah. But if anyone deserved to be happy, it was him.

(Matt Sloan resigned the next morning and told the people in charge to rehire Percy Jackson.)

* * *

**Wow! Coming back to the land of internet and reading all of your guys' comments and reviews was **_**amazing**_**! Thank you all so much. They really meant a lot to me, and I tried to take your requests into account and add them to this chapter. I hope it was ok.**

**And to a couple of you who PMed and reviewed, asking if I'm going to write a Percy!child abuse story on the campers finding out, the answer is maybe. I have a **_**very**_** rough draft of the story, but it's so OOC that it kind of hurts me to look at. I'll work on it, see if I can make it any good, but it won't be posted any time soon.**

**However, I already posted a oneshot where the rest of the Seven find out that he was abused in my other story "Percy's Fathers" (so creative with names, aren't I?).**

**Anyways, let me know what you think.**


	4. Isabel Gonzalez

It's funny how quickly so many things can go wrong at a beach party.

One moment, Isabel Gonzalez was walking up to the cute bad boy she'd been checking out for past twenty minutes. She twirled one black lock of hair around her finger while slowly sashaying towards him. Their eyes met, and she smiled coyly as he looked her up and down.

_Checkmate_, the Latina thought. She smirked to herself and picked up the pace. Isabel never failed to snag a guy, never had; never would. The queen bee glanced back at her clique to see them all wearing the same impressed smile. She grinned at them and winked. Honestly, the girls were more like pets to Isabel; no willpower, clingy, and so utterly stupid. But hey, every popular girl needed wannabes.

Everything went downhill once she bumped into something strong but slender. Isabel yelped and jumped back at the cold sensation dipping down her stomach. She heard a few gasps from where her girls stood and looked down. Her outfit was _completely_ ruined. Spiked punch dripped down her tight, white dress and for a beat of silence, Isabel and the little witch who crashed into her stood there watching the red liquid drip onto the sand.

"You idiot!" she hissed.

That dress was one of a kind and there was no saving it now. Isabel whipped her hair out of her face to glare at the girl then froze, a new feeling blossoming in her stomach. The girl was pretty. _Really _pretty. She had bronze skin that made Isabel feel embarrassed of her own, dark brown hair that honestly looked like a blind person had tried to give her mullet, but she _still _looked amazing. Then, of course, her stupid eyes wouldn't stay the same freaking color. Isabel felt absolute _loathing _that she hadn't felt in years.

"_Piper_," she hissed, venom dripped off the word and the face she was making was probably a _huge _turn off, but for once, Isabel couldn't bring herself to care. She hated this girl with all her heart. Piper was irritating, clingy, parentless, and was only associated with losers, but she _still _managed to always, _always _steal the spotlight. Whether it was for the attention of a certain boy named Jason, or for her athleticism, or for her good grades, Piper never failed to take first place away from the queen bee.

The obnoxiously pretty girl sighed tiredly and fixed her tankini strap awkwardly. Stupid girl. Always was self-conscious. "I didn't know you knew Rachel."

"_I_ don't," Isabel snipped like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But Mr. Dare and my parents are friends." It was true, she just didn't mention that her dad was just a chauffeur and her mom only cleaned the house. "Not that you would know much about _parents_." It was a weak bite, but really, it never took a whole lot to aggravate or unsettle Piper.

But rather than the angry intake of breath or snarl Isabel was expecting, the other girl shrugged with a faint smile. "No," she admitted a little regretfully. "But I know enough…. Besides," she shrugged, "I can always just look them up on the internet, or I guess in Mom's case, the library."

Isabel blinked a little. What kind of comeback was that? "What freaks of parents do you _have_?"

"The strangest ones you'd ever meet. The strangest and _best _ones," Piper added. She gave Isabel a tiny knowing smile, and it felt like someone had slapped the queen bee. This was _not_ the Piper McClean she met at the Wilderness School. That girl would've been angry, or crying, or planning Isabel's assassination. She would _not _be _smiling_ at her insults like they were painfully amusing. For a moment, Isabel felt horribly small next to the brunette and unbelievably ridiculous. And _Piper _was the one with the stupid haircut and crappy clothes.

Isabel was just about scurry back to her clique when a boy walked up behind Piper and offered her a drink. He was handsome. Not exactly "hot" or a "pretty boy" – _handsome_. First off, he was really tall, Isabel had to crane her neck to look at him, and she could see he was toned through his fitted shirt. His hair was just as dark as hers and as wavy, but it was his eyes that made her stomach twist. They were a unique color – sea green, not just "green" or "blue," _sea_ green.

It only took one second of staring into them for a flood of memories to open up.

_Isabel wanted to die. No, really she wanted to grab her pencil and stab her own jugular. Here was her dad, decked out in his janitor clothes, talking about _mopping _and _"code red." _She buried her face in her hands and tried to ignore the snickers of her classmates. Isabel wished that her dad would just shut up._

"_Wow, Izzy," whispered the boy behind her, "had no idea that being a loser ran in your family."_

_Tears prickled at the corners of Isabel's eyes. "Shut up, you little troll," she snapped._

_He snickered and raised his hands in mock surrender, and Isabel hid behind her hands again. _Please be over_, she begged. _Please, please, please. _Her prayers were answered when she heard the sound of a chair grating against the tiled floor and weak clapping from around the room. Isabel swore to never think of that day ever again._

"_Dad," she muttered, shifting in her seat to look up at him, "be cool now. Okay?"_

_He raised an eyebrow and his eyes twinkled mischievously. "When aren't I, baby girl?" he asked before brushing his daughter's short bangs out of her face and kissing her forehead._

_A few snorts were heard, and one particularly immature and irritating boy made kissy faces at her. Isabel's face went red, and she felt like dying in a hole. The girl crinkled her nose and leaned away from her dad. "Right now."_

_Her dad's smile faltered and his shoulders drooped a little. "Okay," he repeated softly. _

_Isabel glanced around the room and tasted bile. A policeman, a doctor, a mechanic – everyone else's dads had cool jobs. Unlike hers. Currently, her dad didn't even _have _job. Isabel didn't bother to tell him about the Father's Day event, but of course her stupid teacher, Ms. Wieldryer (who was _way _too perky to be a fifth grade teacher by the way), called to confirm her dad's attendance. Isabel sank into her seat and glared enviously at a girl with actor for a dad. So not fair._

_When the girl noticed her gaze, she gave Isabel a taunting smile. And it took all of her self-control to not strangle to ugly, pig-eyed chit. She didn't even know what a chit was. Isabel clenched her hands so hard her fingernails cut into her skin. She snapped her head away from the chit to the boy sitting next to her._

_Isabel scowled a little at the vacant seat next to him. "Hey, loser," she said._

_Her dad stared at her, looking scandalized. "Izzy," he started incredulously._

_She gave him an annoyed little glare and reverted her attention back on the raven haired kid. Isabel vaguely recalled that his name was Percy. "Where's _your _dad?"_

_The boy hesitated for a moment before rubbing his shoulder like it hurt. He glanced down at the floor. "Not here."_

_Isabel's scowl deepened. "It's mandatory, stupid. _I_ had to bring my_ _dad."_

_Her dad flinched next to her, and Percy shifted in his seat a little. "I don't have one to bring."_

_Isabel blinked like an owl and opened and closed her mouth like a fish. She waited for Percy to tell her that he was joking, that he just didn't want to bring his dad, but he didn't move a muscle. "O-M-G," she said disbelievingly._

_The thought of _not _having a father seemed ridiculous. Even more ridiculous than having one who was recently fired from being a _janitor_. Glee bubbled up in her chest. "Oh, my gosh," Isabel enunciated. "You don't have a dad?" She erupted into a fit of giggles and several eyes were on her._

"_It's not that big a deal," he snapped quietly but underneath the bite, Isabel _knew _he was embarrassed._

_Ignoring her dad's distressed look, Isabel grinned at her classmates. "He doesn't have a dad," she declared smugly. Talk about embarrassment, even if her dad was a complete loser, not even bringing one _had _to be worse._

_After a moment of silence a few people shrugged and went back to their own business, others didn't even bother acknowledging Isabel, and someone asked "So?" But none of that could dampen the girl's mood. _Finally,_ someone who was even worse off than her in the daddy department. Someone who had the utter embarrassment of not even having one. Isabel lounged in her plastic chair with a pleased smile._

_The very next day the word "BASTARD" was scratched into the boy's locker with a screw driver. No one knew who did it. No one fessed up. But Percy stared at her with the angriest and saddest eyes Isabel had ever seen._

"O-M-G," Isabel whispered. "No way…"

Percy's eyes widened slightly before taking on a guarded look. "Hey," he said flatly.

Isabel said something that sounded like "Uh, huhn, urm" and mentally slapped herself. What was she doing? Checking out a loser. That went totally against her rules of being the "it girl." It didn't matter if Percy's puberty had done wonders for him, it was _not happening._

Piper sipped her drink and Isabel despised the way it stained her lips red. "You two okay?" she asked, mostly just concerned about Percy.

He nodded and rapidly twirled a pen around his fingers. "We were classmates in fifth grade." Percy hesitated for a moment before smiling slightly at Isabel, and her heart skipped a little even though his grin seemed too forced and too tight. "I never really liked the artwork on my locker," he informed her, his eyes flashing a little dangerously before he shrugged, "but I learned to live with it."

Isabel flinched a little at that and took an involuntary step back. She swallowed a little roughly. "Good for you," she said, ignoring the slight quiver in her voice.

Piper frowned slightly at the exchange and tugged at her tacky rooster feathers. "I thought you were in eleventh grade this year," she told Isabel.

The queen bee blushed. She never told anyone at the Wilderness School that she was held back a grade. O-M-G, _that_ would make such a huge dent in her popularity. "I need to fix my dress," Isabel lied, there was just no way to do anything about it now. But she stalked off anyways, bad boy and record long forgotten.

For the rest of the night, she watched the pair from behind the snack table. Stalkerish? Not what the most popular girl at school would do? Yes, but Percy and Piper intrigued Isabel. When she last saw them, they were both miserable, strange, _parentless _kids that hung with the losers. _Now…_

Isabel studied them carefully from the corner of her eye as she tried to scrub her dress. It looked they both had a thing for blonds; Piper was practically sitting in Jason's lap (poor idiot, too stupid and nice to just dump her already) and Percy's hand was interlocked with a blond so lovely that Isabel thought she gave Piper a run for her money. The queen bee instantly picked out Leo in the group as well, he was in the middle, fiddling with something in his hands and his mouth moving at a rapid pace, but it looked like they actually _enjoyed _having him there. Rachel Elizabeth Dare herself stuck to that group like a leech rather than the other way around, and Isabel wondered what was so fabulous about them. What could have possibly happened to change Piper, Leo, and Percy _that _much?

Jason was always a goody-two-shoes and a pretty boy so therefore popular, but those three acted like they didn't have a care in the world. They were who they were and they didn't care about what anyone else thought.

The three held themselves differently from what Isabel remembered as well. Their shoulders were back and their chins were held high. Piper no longer shuffled, Leo didn't stumble like a blind elephant, and when Percy walked, it was with a purpose. A content, confident air surrounded each of them, and it unsettled Isabel.

It went even further downhill when she realized that Leo was staring at her. Little creep. His eyes took up a mischievous twinkle and alarm bells sounded in Isabel's head. But before she could duck away, Leo waved frantically like he was drowning and the most aggravating grin Isabel had ever seen spread across his elfish features. "Hi, Isabel!"

Everyone in their little group looked at Isabel _instantly_, and her face felt like it was boiling. Isabel never felt more humiliated, standing there with her stained dress, visibly ogling the other teens. Before she could embarrass herself any further, she backed away, ignoring the curious gaze of Percy's blonde and Rachel and the amused smiles of Piper, Jason, and Leo.

Isabel couldn't miss the sympathetic look from Percy though. His sea green eyes softened a little and his face relaxed into an easy, non-teasing smile. It was a peace offering, she realized. He was trying to make amends. For a small second, the queen bee's heart softened then she stopped herself from smiling back. Ha! As if.

Isabel, face still unbearable hot, glared at Percy and marched away. It didn't matter if he was hot now, or popular. In her eyes, Percy Jackson would forever be that stupid bastard in fifth grade. Isabel was better than him, better than all of them. Screw having a loser for a dad, she was a queen and everyone worshiped her. Isabel Gonzalez never apologized to _anyone_.

Some things simply never ever changed.

(But if she had looked up, Isabel would have seen a big man with a deep tan, inky black hair, and unique sea green eyes that belonged _only _to one other boy. Had she seen him, she would've known, without a doubt, that she was staring at none other than Percy Jackson's father. The Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses, the God of the Sea himself. Poseidon.

But Isabel was too busy cleaning spiked punch off of her dress to notice.)

* * *

**Sorry I didn't really make Isabel more mature like Nancy was or have her make amends with Percy like everyone else did. But if she was a bully when she was sixteen/seventeen, one year might not make a huge difference in her character. And honestly, not everyone would be the same and apologize – that's not how life works. But I'm sorry if you didn't like this chapter, if you really, **_**really **_**want, I suppose I could redo the ending.**

**Next up is going to be a teacher (as requested by InfinitePanicAttacks33) but I'm going to give you guys a choice because this one was kind of a downer. Should Mr. Nicoll – from the Lightning Thief, the "old sot" – meet Percy when he's fifteen or nineteen/twenty? Kind of leaning toward fifteen, but I'll let you guys decide.**

**Please review! It really means a lot to me.**

**(Credit for writing about Isabel goes to Son of Zeus0001 – thanks a ton for the suggestion! I hope it was okay.)**


	5. Mr Nicoll

"So how're the kids at Yancy?"

Philip Nicoll shuddered. He knew that it was irresponsible of a teacher and extremely unprofessional to complain about his students, but they were a few that were just _horrible_. There was a girl named Nancy that _never _turned in her homework or essays on time, and Philip was fairly certain that she should be in juvie for theft. There was a boy named Grover who always asked the most ridiculous questions, and the English teacher _tried _to be patient and answer them. But Mr. Underwood would talk nonstop and it tended to drag the session and distract his classmates. Then, the worst of all, there was a boy named Percy Jackson, and he was going to be the death of Philip.

Percy turned in his homework on time, usually. He was diagnosed with ADHD, but he sat as still as he could and _tried _not to interrupt _too _much. Whenever he asked questions they were fairly reasonable and didn't stick his nose into other's business, and that all sounded fine. Not a stellar by any means but good enough, if only.

Philip let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Percy Jackson was something else entirely and the teacher didn't mean that as a compliment.

His roommate and classmate from college, Paul Blofis, gave him a sympathetic smile. "Not so good then," he guessed.

"Oh, they're good kids. For the most part," Philip added. "There's just one student in particular..."

Paul nodded in understanding. "A troublemaker?"

The middle school teacher mentally listed all of the things Percy had done wrong. A stash of candy that he'd been selling to other students, Philip wasn't completely sure it _was_ himbut if was anyone, it _would _be Mr. Jackson. A book report on Tom Sawyer that was far too good to be written by him so he probably stole it off of another student. All of the times he and Nancy had gotten sent to detention for fighting. He had called Philip an old sot, and the English teacher hadn't touched a drink _ever. _Not to mention his horrible grades. Yancy Academy was a boarding school for troubled kids, but not even they were enough for Percy Jackson.

Philip nodded grimly. "He won't be welcome back to Yancy next year, but I just don't know what to do with him. He never asks anyone for help, his grades are slipping even further, he gets sent to the hall almost constantly now, and he's just trouble in general." He sighed again and shook his head. "When you were hired to teach at a high school, I thought for sure you'd have a much rougher time than me. I thought sixth graders were supposed to be _good_."

Paul laughed lightly. "Well, look at it this way: survive this year, and you won't have to deal with him again."

Philip grinned a little. "I think I can do that."

* * *

The first time Philip saw Percy Jackson again was at a wedding, his best friend's wedding to be exact. At first, the teacher _almost _didn't recognize his former student. It'd been three years since Philip last saw the boy and in the span of that time he had shot up like a weed and was visibly stronger. In Percy's case, Philip didn't think that was a good thing.

The teacher thought that maybe the boy was only a son of one of Sally's friends. He thought (or it could've been hoped) that Paul's bride and Percy having the same last name was only a coincidence. Jackson wasn't an uncommon name after all and the two didn't look alike whatsoever. But when Philip overheard Percy address Sally as "mom," the teacher's mind went blank.

His best friend was marrying the mother of one of the worst children on the planet. Paul Blofis was going to become Percy's stepfather. Philip leaped out of his seat and sprinted to the groom's side.

"It's him," he panted. "That's Percy Jackson."

Paul smiled and his eyes twinkled a little. "Oh, good, you've met. Nice boy, isn't he?"

Philip stared. Percy Jackson? Nice boy? Those words didn't belong together. "He's a delinquent," he whispered harshly. "That—I, he was my student. He was that delinquent I told you about few years ago."

The other teacher gave a startled, nervous laugh. "Oh, is he? Well, he's matured quite a bit." Paul cautiously looked at Philip from the corner of his eye. "There didn't happen to be a big poodle…or maybe a truck that had anything to do with Percy's expulsion, was there? Or maybe, ah, a few bigger boys with dodge balls?" He paused and stared to at the wall, deep in thought before musing, "Perhaps some cheerleaders…"

"No," Philip said carefully, as though he was talking to a wild animal. "He disrespected me in front of my class. A big poodle? What does _that _have to do with any of this?"

"Nothing," Paul said nonchalantly, fixing his tie.

Philip's lips tensed as he studied his friend. Paul had his little quirks. When they were roommates, he would dip chicken nuggets into chocolate ice cream and always read the very last paragraph of a book before actually starting it. But Paul was the goody-two-shoes. He always turned in his reports on time, always got good grades, took school seriously, and everyone liked him. He was a mature, sensible, and intelligent man. But right now, he was being full out _strange_.

Philip shook his head. "He's a troublemaker, Paul," he said warningly. "I understand that you like Sally, but…" _Like_ was a gross understatement. His best friend _loved _Sally. Philip had met her only once and it was brief, but he thought that she was one of the most brilliant, sweet, and genuine women he had ever met. It wasn't a mystery as to why Paul asked her to marry him, but it _was _a mystery as to how such an amazing woman could have such a horrible son.

Paul's eyes narrowed. "What are trying to say, Philip?" he asked challengingly.

The sixth grade teacher steeled himself at the other man's icy tone. "I'm saying, well," he faltered, "I mean to say that Percy isn't very..." His track record. Oh Lord, the boy's horrible, horrible track record for getting expelled. There was no way poor, innocent Paul could handle a delinquent. "…He's not worth the trouble he causes."

The groom's eyes flashed angrily and if Paul wasn't always so composed, he would've snarled. "Who are you to say that about him?" he demanded. "You knew Percy for one year, you only knew that he'd been expelled from every other school he'd tried. You didn't keep an open mind. You didn't _try _to understand him. To _know _him, not like _I _did. So, please, excuse me. I have a _son _I need to speak with."

Paul walked away swiftly and Philip was left standing there, not knowing what had just happened.

* * *

"So," Philip said uncomfortably, "you have an English teacher for a stepdad." By the time he realized how taunting that sounded it was too late. The words were out of his mouth and in the air.

To the teacher's surprise, Percy gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah," he said easily. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Philip blinked. He half-expected his former student to call him an old sot again, or maybe try to kill him (he looked like he'd be capable of that), or glare, just something other than make a joke. "Yes," Philip said uncertainly.

Percy's eyes shone with amusement at his old teacher's discomfort. It wasn't a cruel light in his eyes; just honest amusement, but Philip felt stupid. "So," he tried again, "what school do you go to?"

"Goode. It's my first year but" – Percy shrugged – "I like it there."

Of course he'd go to Paul's school. "That's good," Philip said. _I suppose there you can't disrespect your English teacher_. He realized that he'd said it out loud when Percy's smile turned guilty and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Yeah," he said, attempting to keep his voice light. "I guess not."

Philip eyed Percy, looking for anything his old roommate saw that he missed. Looking for something that deemed the boy as priceless, precious enough to love despite all his flaws. All he saw were tired sea green eyes and drooped shoulders as if he were carrying the weight of the world.

* * *

The second time Mr. Nicoll ran into Percy was four years later, in the seedier parts of New York. He and a girl with blonde curly hair were killing cheerleaders in an ally. They glided and sliced and stabbed with the grace of experience. And all Philip could do was watch through horror filled eyes as they beat down girl after girl with…a baseball bat and a trumpet. He knew that Percy was sketchy, but _this_. This was _murder_.

"Stop!" he yelled. Philip tried to grab the trumpet from the girl, but she quickly twisted away and kneed him the gut with strength that the teacher wasn't expecting. He dropped onto the filthy ground hugging his stomach. The blonde raised the trumpet above her head like she was going to strike him, and Philip shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the blow. But it never came.

He heard a quick intake of breath. "_Vlacas_," the girl muttered. "You're a mortal."

Philip opened his eyes uncertainly. The girl was still holding her trumpet but not threateningly. Her stormy grey eyes were watching him intensely, and Philip had never felt more wary in his entire life. She looked about nineteen or twenty, just a college girl, but her eyes held wisdom knowledge beyond her years, and she radiated danger.

Philip swallowed. "Yes, I'm a mortal. And you're a murderer." Granted it wasn't one of the smartest things to say, but he had almost been beaten to death, it wasn't like he was thinking clearly. The girl's hard stare wasn't helping either.

Her grey eyes flashed. "How dare—"

"Mr. Nicoll?" a familiar voice asked disbelievingly. Philip glanced away from the blonde to see his former student covered in dust and holding a pen. To his relief, the younger man's weapon was gone. Percy was barely allowed _scissors _at Yancy, much less a baseball bat. The teacher looked over the ally and realized that the corpses were missing as well.

The girl frowned a little. "You know him?"

"Yeah," Percy nodded. "He was my sixth grade English teacher." He knelt next to Philip and met his eyes. "You okay?"

Philip shook his head. "Those girls, you—you _killed _them! You're murderers!" He looked out the streets and started yelling, "Help! Help, they're—"

Percy clamped his hand over the teacher's mouth and the blonde glared at him. "Quiet," she hissed, looking out the ally and clutching her trumpet a little tighter.

"Annabeth and I didn't exactly _kill _them," Percy informed uncertainly.

Philip watched the two with skeptical and terrified eyes. He begged to differ. Percy and Annabeth were murderers. They were going to kill him, beat him to death with a baseball bat and a trumpet. Oh Lord, what could be worse?

"Those were _empousai_," he stressed. "We're not murderers, we're…" He trailed off to look at the girl hesitantly. Something passed between them, and Annabeth squared her shoulders and gazed deep into Philip's eyes.

"Mr. Nicoll," she said evenly, calmly, "what do you know about Greek mythology?"

And that was how Philip was introduced to the world behind the "Mist." That was how he learned of half-bloods; children of the gods who, by mortal's standards were freaks. But in reality, they were the greatest heroes to ever live. Philip was told of the Second Titan War and Giant War and of camps that were made to train demigods, to train heroes. And Percy explained to him why his dyslexia and ADHD – the very disorders he was mocked for having at Yancy Academy, were necessary for survival in his world.

Percy Jackson wasn't a delinquent. Not really. He wasn't the trouble_maker_; trouble just followed him wherever he went because of who he was; the son of Poseidon. A child of the Big Three.

Percy wasn't stupid either. While he might not be as academically intelligent as his girlfriend, the son of Poseidon knew what mattered. He knew how to survive, how to lead, and how to fight for what was right. And in that sense, Percy was one of the smartest people Philip had ever met.

(The next year, there was a new boy in Philip's class. He had a mischievous face, and a certain sparkle in his eyes that made the teacher check his pockets. The boy was ADHD and dyslexic, and had a record for being kicked out of schools that rivaled even Percy's.

But this time, Philip kept an open mind, thought about Percy, and welcomed the new kid with open arms. And when the boy was accused of blowing up his dorm, Philip covered for him and called 800-009-0009, Camp Half-Blood.)

* * *

**To CJM: **** I haven't forgotten Gabe. But I've already made a one-shot of him, and I'm currently working on another one. It will be more about the camper's reactions to him than anything else though. :/ I don't think I'd be able to successfully pull off bringing him back from the dead unless everyone's willing to believe he escaped from the Underworld while Thanatos was captured. I like your idea though, I think it's creative and you should write it. **** I'd love to read it. :)**

**So in the end, you all voted and gave me good reasons to write about both ages, and this was the result. I hope you liked it, thank you for your support! I'll try to fit in Nico and Thalia in the next chapter.**


	6. Octavian

It was interesting how no matter how imperfect Percy was proved to be, everyone loved him. They stuck to him even more and followed him wholeheartedly even when he came out of Tartarus scared and bruised and traumatized. Including the Romans, who looked down on weakness. Each and every ordeal put him on an even higher pedestal for the demigods to admire him, and no one could deny that he was a hero. No matter what, Percy Jackson was loved.

Octavian on the other hand…

He didn't know what was wrong with him. So maybe he wasn't the kindest legacy out there, but he was _clever_. Strategic. Octavian knew how to strike fear into his opponents with the mildest blackmail. And the augur knew how to sway crowds with one sentence. Sometimes even less.

But people thought that _his _style of fighting wasn't honorable. His own father had told him so, and the other half-bloods couldn't agree more. They looked at their own augur like he was a monster. They thought Octavian's ways were "sneaky" and "cruel" and "Grecian." The praetors thought he was dangerous. His own Cohort thought he was unstable. And his fellow legacies thought he was a stain on New Rome.

Octavian didn't see how his way of war was any different from Percy's. Percy was a killer. He ended a life; the augur only ruined a life. Where Octavian used his words, the son of Poseidon used an actual sword. The legacy fought a battle in the shadows that required brains and wit. Percy fought a bloody battle that only required muscle and a really pointy weapon. Why was _he _praised, but Octavian was despised?

How come people respected Percy despite his childhood, and then they mocked Octavian for it?

_Her name was Cassandra, just a girl and a small one at that, but Octavian thought that she was as fierce as Lupa. Cassnadra shoved him back with surprising force and the legacy of Apollo stumbled into the _Pax_, grimacing when the slimy, stale water stained his shirt. She laughed, and Octavian hated how pretty it sounded._

"_Leave me alone, you little cretin," he hissed, getting up from the disgusting floor of the boat. His lips curled back into a sneer. "Or perhaps I'll inform the praetors about your little screw up with the pegasi. I'm sure they'd like to know why there's only _one _left."_

_Cassandra snarled and tackled him back down to the floor. "You're a filthy little _Greacus_, Octavian," she snapped. "You're nothing but a sneaky, traitorous, little rat. You're not a _true _Roman. You're a coward, and you don't belong here." She yanked down the collar of his shirt and jabbed a delicate finger at the mosaic of bruises and a long, wide scar just below his collarbone. She whispered, "Even your own _father_ knows it."_

Scars and burns _littered_ Percy Jackson's body, and every Greek and Roman demigod had seen them at least once. There were a few theories on how their leader had so many marks.

One was that he simply wasn't invincible, not anymore at least. Percy could take on armies and fight beings older than the gods themselves without batting an eye, but walk away from a war without a scratch? No, not even he was capable of that. No one could ever recall seeing Percy badly injured though.

Another idea was that Percy Jackson had a double life. Not only was he the hero of Olympus, but he led a different, more peril life of adventure. That one was the most popular one. It put him on an even higher pedestal so all of the demigods could admire him even more. It turned the evidence of his mortality into even more tales of bravery and strength.

Some believed that Percy attained them from top secret quests for various gods and goddesses. Others spoke in hushed voices that the son of Poseidon was attacked by Triton at a young age, before he could defend himself. A few ignored the blemishes. To them they were a testament of weakness and vulnerability. They couldn't bring themselves to believe that Percy Jackson was less than perfect.

Octavian was the most unlikely person to ever suspect the truth of Percy's mutilations, but he recognized them easily. After all, they were what he saw on his own skin every day. As soon as Octavian laid eyes on the son of Poseidon's bare chest, the augur knew who had hurt him and when.

They were not battle wounds. They weren't the result of heroism. They were the scars and burns from an angry man with a cruel heart, and Octavian would know that better than anybody. To others, it would seem like a wild guess, but he _knew _that Percy had been abused as a child. It was a horrible and unfair move in their little chess game of power, but Octavian couldn't resist. He told the most gossipy daughter of Aphrodite, Drew, about his theory and the rumor spread like wildfire.

The reactions were various. Some looked a little disappointedly at their idol when they heard the news. The truth that their hero was not perfect was a rude awakening to reality. But as soon as they accepted it, gotten over their shock, they followed Percy like a mob of sad, lost puppies.

His friends (which was pretty much everyone except the newer campers) banded together to track down Percy's stepfather. They didn't judge him or think for a second that _maybe _he wasn't qualified to be a leader. No, they I-Med the messenger god himself for information in order to hunt the man down. For reasons that Octavian still didn't know, their search resulted in piling an impressive amount of Greek and Roman demigods into a school bus and driving to some big, fancy museum in New York.

But all in all? The truth of Percy's supposedly perfect childhood resulted in an even _higher _pedestal. Something Octavian didn't know was even possible. And he was jealous. Burningly and obsessively jealous.

Jealous of the loyalty and love the campers reserved for the son of Poseiodn, and the friends he had.

* * *

_Clarisse's eyes narrowed and her nose crinkled like she thought Octavian smelled like rotting meat. "What'd you say, punk?"_

_Octavian wondered to himself why he decided to inform the very violent and very scary _Greacus_ about Percy's little secret himself. Nevertheless, he smoothed his face and gave Clarisse a mocking, condescending grin. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, mock-honesty coating each word. "I'll say it like this: I have reasons to believe that our dear leader Percy was hurt by his stepfather…or maybe even _mother _when he was much younger."_

_Clarisse face went blank but Octavian could hear her teeth grinding. "Leave him alone, Octavian. Only I can pick on Prissy." But judging by the angry glimmer in her eyes, the augur thought that that wasn't the only reason._

* * *

_Octavian felt fear rise unbidden in his throat, but if he were to swallow it down, he'd cut his neck because of the knife pressed to it. Thalia's eyes flashed, and Octavian thought that she was a hundred times more frightening than Jason. "Listen up, _boy_," she started, and her voice was cold enough to make her mistress proud. "You keep away from, Percy. You just shut up_ _or so help me, I _will _kill you. Got it?"_

_Octavian wasn't really sure if the Hunter was only threatening or not. Thankfully, he didn't have to answer her because Thalia dropped him to the ground and with one last ominous glare, left. _

To find her cousin no doubt_, the legacy thought venomously. Octavian wasn't even halfway up from the ground when a boot pressed down between his shoulder blades. He fell back onto the ground and pebbles dug into his face when he craned his neck to look at his attacker. Well, attackers._

_Leo stared down at him with a hard expression that didn't look natural on his face and Piper glared, putting more pressure on her foot than necessary. Octavian noted that the daughter of Aphrodite didn't look so pretty when she was angry. Katoptris was drawn with a swift _shhhnk_, and stabbed down into the ground near the augur's face. Looking between the friends, Octavian had never felt more humiliated or outnumbered in his entire life._

"_Do we really need to say anything?" Leo got out. The two looked too angry to properly yell at him, and the augur didn't think that was a good thing._

_Octavian shook his head as much as he could, and Piper smiled a little detachedly. "I thought so."_

* * *

_Reyna's posture was stiff, but she sat in her chair with her back straight and shoulders back. And Octavian thought she looked regal enough to give her older sister a run for her money. But Reyna's dark eyes were unreadable, and her dogs sat by her side as always, but this time Octavian felt wary of them. "I see," the praetor finally said after several moments of complete and utter silence._

_Octavian's eyebrows rose and he spread his hands apart like he was carrying a tray. "'I see,'" he repeated. "That's all?" Octavian sighed and his voice took on an exasperated tone like a teacher talking to a bad student. "Reyna, don't you think he is…unfit to lead us?"_

_To her credit, Reyna's neutral face didn't even twitch. "No, I do not," she clipped._

_Octavian expected this much. He made a pained face as though he couldn't bear to speak the next words. "I understand that he – along with the Seven…" That was much harder to say then he expected. "…have accomplished much and Percy has proven himself over and over." Now that felt like coughing up glass. "_However_, I find that it is my responsibility—"_

"_Your responsibility is to read augurs, Octavian," Reyna interrupted, her own voice taking on a condescending lilt. "And even your gifts are unnecessary now with the Oracle's presence." She stood and stepped toward Octavian, her praetor's cape drifting gracefully behind her. "I know what you are attempting here, Octavian."_

_He pressed his lips into a thin, cold smile. "Oh, really?"_

"_Yes," she replied, undeterred. "And I will save you the trouble by telling you now. It will not work. This time you will need much more than words to win. Not I, nor Jason, and definitely not you can compete with Percy Jackson." Reyna cocked her head. "Besides you've made the wrong move entirely."_

_Octavian made it all the way to his house before he vomited._

* * *

_The ambassador of Pluto looked at the augur through angry and haunted eyes, and Octavian knew that he was in trouble. While Percy had a way of making people trust him without completely trying, and Thalia was someone people listened to out of fear, Nico di Angelo had an aura that _made _others part like the Red Sea. "You know," he started, "I have yet to meet his ghost."_

_Octavian thought through his words carefully. "Who's ghost?"_

_Nico gave Octavian a grin that looked downright unnatural on his normally serious and sulking face, and the augur felt like a child. "Gabe Ugliano's, Percy's stepfather." The grin dropped. "But you'd know all about him," Nico said icily. "Wouldn't you?"_

_Octavian hesitated a moment. Although the boy was a _Greacus _and young, he was still a force to be reckoned with. "Forgive me, Nico," he said cautiously, "but where is this going?"_

_The son of Hades ignored Octavian and twisted his skull ring. "We already have a punishment for him. He'll play poker forever."_

"…_I don't see how that's a punishment."_

"_And," Nico continued, "my father will make a deal with Gabe. He'll promise him that if he ever wins, he can come back to life." He soaked in Octavian's surprised look before adding, "Of course, that will never happen. Just like Sisyphus, Gabe Ugliano will be forever cursed to fail. And whenever he loses, he'll feel like Hercules himself is beating him. Just like he hurt Percy."_

_Octavian's stomach twisted a little. Now he knew where this was going._

_Nico twisted his ring back and forth three times and looked deep into the legacy's eyes. "There are worse punishments, you know. Much, much worse, and I am the only one, other than my father, who could possibly influence the judges' decisions. So…__**stop**__."_

_If Octavian didn't know any better, he'd say that Nico was a charmspeaker._

* * *

There were many other threats and actions against him. Octavian didn't have any evidence, but he _knew _the Stoll brothers were the ones that had come up with the idea of completely ripping his house out of the ground and placing in a tree _sideways _after painting pictures of teddy bears all over it. For _days _the augur had to walk around New Camp Half-Blood with a stormy cloud hovering inches above his head and raining _constantly_, and he knew it was Jason's doing. Octavian was fairly certain it was Frank's, Hazel's, and Rachel's fault when he woke up hanging upside down off of statue Zeus' lightning bolt with a mob a creepy looking stuffed animals smiling up at him.

And then there was Annabeth Chase. The one that truly terrified him. When Octavian walked in to find the daughter of Athena lounging on one of his chairs, he was too stunned to move. But Annabeth, chin held high and eyebrow raised, studied the augur like it was as simple as reading a book.

She swallowed. "This isn't my style," Annabeth stated and if it wasn't for the tone of her voice, Octavian would've thought that she was talking about his house. "I fight battles and slay monsters. I don't fight in the shadows over power. I don't need to, I _earn _my place through my actions."

Annabeth bit her lips a little and looked up at Octavian through torn eyes. "But I am a daughter of Athena," she said steadily, "my words are as dangerous as my knife and I am clever enough to play your game, Octavian. And I'm not even changing the rules."

Octavian's stomach twisted agonizingly. "Go on," he said hoarsely.

Stormy grey bore all the way into his soul. "I know what you did to that girl."

"_Please," Cassandra wept. "Please, don't…"_

_Octavian threw his head back and laughed. It sounded crazy to his own ears, and the girl struggled against her bonds harder than ever. "No," he said, hints of barely restrained laughter punctuating each word. Giggles escaped Octavian's lips. "No. You see…" He traced his knife against Cassandra's jaw. "…this is me proving to you – to _everyone_ that I am not a _Greacus. _I am strong."_

_Tears rolled down her face and she shook her head. "No…"_

"_I am a Roman," Octavian insisted, "and Romans do not show mercy."_

_The legacy gutted her and watched in fascination as the life in Cassandra's eyes faded away. Years later, he'd remember that moment when he disemboweled his very first teddy bear._

Octavian's blood went cold, and he had never felt exposed and vulnerable then he did then. In his own house in the dead of night with the daughter of Athena staring straight through him, seeing his whole life like a puzzle piece. "How?"Annabeth didn't move a muscle. "_How_ _did you know_?" he practically yelled.

Her grey eyes finally looked away, and she clenched her fist. "I wasn't sure until now."

_Of course not_. Octavian felt like collapsing.

She sucked in a shaky breath, and her face looked pained, like she couldn't believe what she was doing. "Now here's the deal. I'll keep your secret."

_A lot of good that'll do._ _Pluto probably has some horrible punishment for me anyways._

"And you leave Percy alone." Coming from anyone else, this would've seemed obsessive and maybe even a little funny, but not from Annabeth. No, Percy and Annabeth were two halves of the same whole and it was impossible to mess with one without disrupting and angering the other. "We have gone through _way _too much to need to prove ourselves to _anyone_. And we are just too exhausted to put up with your little power-obsessed schemes any more, Octavian."

From the look in her eyes, the augur knew she meant every word she was saying. He chuckled and slowly clapped despite the absolute vulnerability he felt. "Blackmail? I didn't think you'd sink so far."

"You're a hypocrite. In more ways than one," Annabeth said, and another chill went down Octavian's back when she eyed the area below his collarbone, almost exactly where his scar was. She knew…

Annabeth buried her face and her hands and shook her head. "Ugh, this is so messed up and wrong—but I mean it," she declared. "Just stop, surrender this—whatever it is, and leave us alone. I… I shouldn't have to say anymore for you of all people to understand what will happen if you don't."

Octavian nodded numbly, his head feeling light and his heart unbelievably heavy. Annabeth Chase had uncovered his deepest secrets, and she was using them against him like a true politician. The irony was like a knife to the stomach and minutes after the daughter of Athena glided out of the room, Octavian ran. He ran and ran and ran, and by the time he was out of breath and couldn't take another step, he was miles away from the new Greek-Roman camp.

Why? What made _Percy _so different from him? They were both killers. They were both hurt when they were only boys, by their fathers and other kids. They both were leaders in their own way. Why did no one idolize him, love him unconditionally? Like Percy Jackson.

In the back of his mind, he knew the answers. Percy Jackson was loved because despite everything, he only got stronger. If he could go through a crappy childhood and walk through Tartarus and come out _mostly_ okay, then everyone – Greeks and Romans alike, could depend on Percy to lead them to victory. They could count on their hero to always pick himself back up and climb up that stupid, stupid pedestal.

Octavian had been trampled, tackled, and beaten so much he just simply couldn't get to his feet anymore.

The next day, Octavian walked into the pavilion not meeting anyone's eyes and all noise quickly died down. He sat alone, watching all the other demigods laugh and joke while he drank nothing but strawberry Kool-Aid because, well, it seemed to make Dakota happy. The augur looked passed Clarisse's glower, Thalia's death glare, Piper's and Leo's obvious stares, and Reyna's pursed lips. He even managed to look passed Annabeth's guilty but relentless eyes.

All Octavian could see was sea green. They were as bad as Reyna's in the unreadable category, and he found himself stumped. The legacy swallowed passed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. After a few more tries, he sunk back into his couch and gulped his beverage.

Percy's face softened a little, and he looked down at his girlfriend. Emotions swarmed in Annabeth's eyes before her posture finally relaxed and she nodded. The son of Poseidon scooted over a bit to make room on the couch and, ignoring the _very _surprised looks from his friends, he patted the empty space next to him.

It was the very first time Octavian had ever been invited anywhere. Demigods generally avoided him as much as possible. Rather than 'I love you,' the most common phrase his father ever said was 'Beat it.' So Octavian accepted.

* * *

**You know how I was going to make a one-shot focusing on all of the camper's reactions to Percy's child abuse? Well, I sort of tore it apart and turned it into this because I felt the need to write about Octavian, and I wanted to give him a reason for being so…him (probably not the real reason. Maybe he saw something in a vision that made him a little power hungry?). And I decided to just kill two birds with one stone and combine his chapter with the campers' reactions story. Sorry if it seemed off. I kind of just completely lost it somewhere and just speed-typed because I really can't do one thing for long, it drives me insane. I'll most likely go through it some other time and touch it up, but for now it's just this.  
**

**Next chapter won't be posted right away. I feel like this would be a nice place to stop, but tell me if you want me to continue or not. Please review, I read every last one of them. :)**


	7. Drew Tanaka

Fact: Drew Tanaka was a narcissist.

She smiled coyly at her own reflection as she did her makeup. She curled her hair and sprayed it to perfection all the while admiring its shine and the way it complimented her coppery tan. She carried around a small bedazzled mirror and checked her reflection every half-hour. And when Drew walked, she made it crystal clear that she knew she had hips and she liked them very much.

Yes, Drew Tanaka was a narcissist. Everyone at camp – _both _camps, actually, was aware of this. What they didn't know was _why_? Naturally, everyone assumed that it was just a child of Aphrodite quirk. Most residents of Cabin 10 were irritating, but no one could deny that they were so attractive they put Victoria Secret models to shame. So why _wouldn't _Drew be so infatuated with herself? She was beautiful and there was no question about it.

But there was only one person in existence who ever told her so.

_Drew really didn't understand the whole "passage" thing. Yes, she understood that Aphrodite was the goddess of love, but wasn't love…well, deep? Surely love was deeper than making someone like her just to break their heart, but her newfound siblings told her otherwise. _

_They had to explain it quite a few times because Drew just didn't understand the benefit of hurting someone else for her own gain, but she got the picture. If she wanted to make her mom and her cabinmates proud, she'd better ruin some poor guy's love life. _

_The idea made Drew a little queasy and nervous. After all, she wasn't much to look at. Or listen to for that matter. She tripped over her words constantly and stuttered when an attractive boy so much as _looked _at her. But Drew swallowed down the lump in her throat, ignored the fluttering in her stomach, and walked up to a boy._

_He was sitting alone under the shade, that much was good, but Drew couldn't really make out any details other than his athletic build and the regulatory orange T-shirt. She bit her lip. She would've preferred going after a less attractive guy, but _all _of the boys at Camp Half-Blood were wonders to behold. So Drew did her best not to stumble over the ridiculous heels her siblings crammed her poor feet into and attempted to gracefully lower herself down beside the boy._

"_Hi." She tried to say it confidently but it came out as a timid, breathy whisper. The boy turned to look at her, and Drew realized her mistake. He wasn't just attractive; he was the most handsome boy the daughter of Aphrodite had ever seen. His black hair was windswept in a way that made Drew melt a little and his eyes were a beautiful, beautiful sea green._

"_Hey," he said, his deep voice had a kind, cheerful undertone to it that made Drew's heart melt a little. He gave her a friendly smile and extended his hand. "I'm Percy. You're Drew, right?"_

_Her voice was doing that annoying thing again, when it just would not work no matter how hard she tried. So Drew bobbed her head and hoped she didn't look stupid while she reached out her hand to touch Percy's._

"_Daughter of Aphrodite?"_

_Drew would've tried to nod her head if she wasn't mesmerized by the way he clasped her hand in his. Warmth spread throughout her entire body, and Drew felt something jump uncontrollably in her chest. She opened her mouth and all that came out was, "Un-hnnm." _

_Drew's face went red, but Percy only smiled in harmless amusement. "Congratulations. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."_

* * *

_Drew wanted him._

_It was obsessive and possessive, but he was perfect I each and every way._

_For a few days now, Drew would run into her cabin, her cheeks flushed and a smile adorning her face, and none of her siblings knew why. For all their claims of being love gurus, they couldn't see the reason Drew practically floated or why she'd laugh softly to herself or hum when she thought no one was listening. One might think the reason was obvious, but in the end, it took Mitchell and Lacy to get Drew to spill._

_For all their makeup and fashion, the two could be downright scary when they wanted to be. So Drew told her siblings about her meetings with Percy. She told them about how she got lost in his eyes, how she thought he was heroic and perfect enough to rival Hercules, how she wanted him. When she finished, she fell onto her bed with a giddy laugh and stared lovestruck out the window. _

_Percy was handsome, kind, and Drew had never met anyone like him. So she didn't really get why her siblings were gawking and fanning their faces like they were about to faint. And not in the good way. Drew was in love, wasn't that a good thing? Wasn't that good for a daughter of Aphrodite?_

_Finally, Silena, one of the most gorgeous girls Drew had ever met, dropped down next to her half-sister and clasped one of her hands tightly. "Drew, I'm glad you've found someone, really," she said, bobbing her head enthusiastically and giving her a grin worthy of a celebrity. "But," her voice took on a different, guarded tone, "not him. Anyone else, Drew." Silena turned back to folding her clothes. "Percy Jackson's already reserved."_

_Drew's nostrils flared and she raised a challenging eyebrow at her. Like Hades she cared. "Who says? _Annabeth_?" she said, laughing. Her confidence was somewhat forced though because, well, Annabeth Chase was made of some pretty scary stuff._

_Silena's head snapped back so fast it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. "No," she said, slightly irritated. "Mother."_

_Drew's resolve wavered at the information. Annabeth was scary, but a _goddess_… "But I like him," she said pitifully._

_Gasps were heard all around the cabin and everyone stared at their newest addition like she just declared she wanted to dye her hair orange. The clash with her skin would've made Medusa run for the hills._

_Silena's eyes hardened and she brushed a stray curl out of her face like Drew was nothing more than a doll. "Darling," she said, completely serious. "You never interfere with Mother's plans. You may be her daughter, but her duty as the goddess of love comes first. You've got to forget about Percy. Do you understand?"_

_Drew felt sick. That sounded terrible, like living without food or water. How could she possibly manage? But the look Silena was giving her was so disappointed and chastising that all Drew could do was hang her head. "Yes," she grit out, all newfound confidence gone._

_A grin adorned the older girl's angelic face and she hugged Drew. "Good," Silena said quietly. She pulled away and tilted Drew's chin up in order to get a better look her. "Swear on the River Styx you will complete your rite of passage?" Silena nodded to the other residents of Cabin 10. "We've all sworn to Mother we would. Think of it as an added precaution."_

_The words felt like lead on her tongue, but she managed to get them out. "I swear on the River Styx."_

* * *

_A meek boy with blond hair and violet eyes approached her nervously, and Drew thought that maybe she shouldn't have dolled herself up too much. Poor boy could barely speak. "Er, hi," he said, already blushing. "My name's Castor. I know we've never talked before, but I was wondering if you'd want to hang out sometime."_

_Drew bit her lip, knowing how it drove boys crazy before smiling up at him. "Sure," she said coyly. "Meet me in the attic of the Big House tonight?"_

_Castor blinked a little and he furrowed his brows. "The attic…"_

_Drew played with a locket she snatched from Silena and looked at him with an innocent look in her eyes. "Well, it's private. Don't you like that?"_

_Castor blushed and he stuttered, "Oh, yeah. Definitely."_

_Drew grinned. "Good," she said, winking. "See you there."_

_Castor's entire face lit up, and his purple eyes twinkled with pure admiration. It almost made Drew feel guilty when she took his first kiss and kept her eyes open in order to watch Percy spar with Annabeth through the window. If Drew wasn't wondering why Percy didn't care that she found a different guy or why she wasn't hanging off of _his _arm, she would've noticed the loving look in Castor's eye._

"_You're really beautiful, you know that, right?" he asked when she pulled away._

_If Drew had stopped gazing at Percy and focused her attention on Castor, her heart would've stopped beating for longer than what was healthy because that was something no one _ever _called her. Not her dad, not her friends, not even her first crush._

_When she was younger, she thought she was. At least, Drew was comfortable in her own skin. But then her stepmom, Tiana, came along. She always made Drew feel so insecure about her acne and weight, it was silly and vain but Drew took it to heart. The worst part was that Tiana wasn't even trying to put her down, she'd buy Drew tons of beauty and skin products like she was trying to help Drew. Like she had some sort of fatal disease that only foundation and careful dieting could save._

_The longer Tiana "helped" the more Drew was too ashamed to look in the mirror. She tried to convince herself that she was beautiful, but it was never the same as someone actually _saying _it to her. Like how Castor just did._

_Drew would've felt the bubbly, giddy feeling her chest and the way her lips tingled. But she was too hypnotized by Percy's eyes to realize what Castor had called her. "I know," she said distractedly, pulling him into another boring kiss._

_A month later, Lacy opened the cabin door to see her sister standing outside their cabin, watching the son of Dionysus walk away with pursed lips. "Drew?" Lacy asked cautiously._

_Drew walked in with curt nod and sat on her bed, fixing her curls._

_Lacy stood uncomfortably in the doorway. Ever since the Percy incident their relationship had been strained at best. Finally, she said, "You're not, um, in _love_, are you? Because that's not really how the rite of passage works."_

_All other gossip and talk died down and the other demigods present stopped whatever they were doing in favor of staring at the two girls. Drew could practically hear the pin drop as her siblings absorbed the horror of Lacy's words. She glared at the blonde, wanting more than ever to rip her stupid pigtails out. A month ago, she would've blushed red and buried her face in shame, but now she was raging mad and Lacy was her target. Figures, she was the one wearing the red blouse after all. _

"_In what recesses of your slow little mind would you ever think that?" Drew challenged condescendingly. _

_Lacy's eyes darted around and she faltered. "I just…I mean, you and Castor have been dating for a while, I thought…"_

_Drew smiled down at her. "He means nothing to me. Not like Percy."_

_Silena sighed from her bunk before sitting up in order to look deep into Drew's eyes. "I thought I told you to forget about him."_

_Drew snorted. "You expected that to work?" In truth it had at the time, but more she saw him the more her sister's words sounded more like a friendly suggestion._

_Silena frowned and Lacy furrowed her brows. "Are you in love with Percy?" the younger girl asked._

_Drew rolled her eyes and muttered something about blondes under her breath. "No," she said sarcastically._

_Lacy bit her lips. "Children of Aphrodite don't fall in love. People fall in love with _us_, and their hearts break when they can't have us."_

_Silena nodded in agreement. "It's the rite of passage," she said sagely. "Breaking a heart is what defines you as a child of Aphrodite, Drew. It means you're like Mother. And you don't want to disappoint her, do you?"_

_The thought of Aphrodite thinking that she was fat and ugly like Tiana terrified Drew. An uncomfortable knot settled in her stomach and all the fight drained out of her, leaving her feeling lightheaded. Drew shook her head. "No. No, of course not."_

_Mitchell's eyebrows rose sympathetically and stopped cleaning his high-tops in favor of wrapping an arm around his Drew's shoulders. The corners of his lips lifted up. "Then you'll forget about Percy and focus on Castor?"_

_Drew felt sick and overwhelmed with everyone staring at her but she choked out a broken, "Yes."_

_The very next day, she dumped her boyfriend like last week's fashion. Castor had stood outside her cabin in shock for hours, holding a rose and wearing a heartbroken expression on his young face while Drew turned to her siblings with a new, cold feeling gripping her heart._

"_Victory," she declared. They all applauded and congratulated Drew on her outstanding performance, but Silena's smile seemed fake and dark circles stood out on her pale face like she just realized what a grave mistake she had made._

* * *

_When word got out that Silena and Beckendorf's relationship was getting serious, Drew pinned her older sister to the wall and dug her manicured nails into the older girl's arms. The cabin was empty except for those two and the light was so dim they could barely make out each other's faces. That was okay though, Silena's obnoxious, pretty eyes were the last things she wanted to see._

"_You traitor," Drew hissed, her nose practically touching the other girl's._

_She felt Silena flinch like she'd been slapped and heard her swallow. "Darling—"_

"_No," Drew snapped. "None of that 'darling' crap, what in Hades do you think you're doing with that ugly, dirty—"_

_Silena stiffened, and she snapped, "His name's Charlie."_

"_I don't care. What are you doing? Are you playing with him, trying to make him fall even more in love with you? Or" – a choked laugh escaped her throat – "or do you _love _him, Silena?"_

_The counselor of Cabin 10 shoved Drew away from her. "That's none of your concern."_

"_Oh, I think it is," Drew said icily. "What happened to your oh-so-special rite of passage? What happened to 'making mom proud?'" She scoffed bitterly. "You're not in love, are you, Silena? Because that's not how the initiation wor—"_

"_What do you know about love?" Silena snapped. "The only boy who _ever _even looked at you twice is dead. And I'm definitely not talking about Percy."_

_Drew breathed in sharply and grit her teeth. "Shut up."_

"_You broke Castor's heart," Silena accused coldly._

_Drew backed up. "That's enough."_

"_Shattered it."_

"_Silena—"_

"_You're the reason he's dead."_

"_N-no."_

"_I saw him take the blow to the head for you. I saw him protect you with his own body regardless of what you did to him. You're nothing but a heartless—"_

_Something shifted inside of Drew and blood roared in her ears. "__**I said stop!**__"_

_Silena's mouth clamped shut and she stood there, frozen. Her blue eyes were wide and she stared at Drew, docile as a cow. The raven-haired girl took in a shaky breath. "You and—Charlie," she spat, "won't last long, you little hypocrite. You're refusing to complete your rite of passage. You think you can stay in love? Well, think again."_

_Silena broke out of…whatever she was in and shook her head, saying shakily, "I'm not going to break someone's heart just for a stupid rite of passage."_

_Drew laughed, a haunting but beautiful sound of delicate bells ringing. "Then you've broken your oath." A lifeless smile spread across her features. "Believe me, _hon_," she lowered her voice, "this little bit of happiness you've found with Beckendorf? It'll be what kills you in the end. Love will be your undoing." She brushed Silena's air out of her face like she was nothing but a very beautiful doll. "Mother must be so disappointed in you now."_

* * *

When she was alone one night, she met a woman in her cabin. With beauty beyond all imagination and a voice so powerful and persuasive, the daughter of Aphrodite knew who she was. Drew saw her mother for the very first time. Or at least, several forms of her.

Aphrodite had dark, Cherokee features for one moment, then blond hair and violet eyes, and then finally settled with cascading black hair and sea-colored orbs.

Drew swallowed when she snapped herself out of her jealousy. She was the goddess of beauty, it wasn't like it was a fair competition. "Why?" she asked brokenly. "I've done everything you've ever wanted. I left Percy alone – just like you wanted, and I broke Castor's heart. Everything I've done, I've done for you." A snarl overcame her delicate features. "Not even precious Silena or _Piper_ obeyed you."

Drew hated her half-sister from the moment she saw her. Piper was pretty and unique, and she didn't even care. She didn't dress down because she thought she was ugly, she wore what she felt like because she was comfortable in her own skin, acne and all. And she was just _so _different from what Drew was like when she first set foot in Camp Half-Blood that she just couldn't bear to look at her.

Drew hated Piper even more when she started talking. For starters she was just annoying and _way _too clingy with Jason, but there was something lurking beneath that grating little voice. Not even Annabeth herself could catch it, but Drew did. She heard it in her own voice every time she spoke. Piper McLean was a charmspeaker. Aphrodite gave her the same gift she gave Drew.

She could've charmspoken the Cherokee into killing herself when she _refused _to break Jason's heart and stole Drew's rightful place as counselor. Piper McLean was just another Silena Beauregard but with a bad haircut, and Drew was too exhausted to deal with another disgrace.

Aphrodite sighed quietly and looked her daughter in the eye. "Yes, they did, and they found happiness and love." Her eyes turned regretful. "You should have too."

Before Drew could respond, Aphrodite's hand was pressed against her forehead and she wasn't in Camp Half-Blood anymore. She was standing in a small, clean house with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a table the color of grapes. It wasn't extravagant or in bad shape, but Drew felt a pang in her chest of longing. Which was strange because she thought the grape themed decorations were tacky.

Aphrodite stood next to her but any question Drew was tempted to ask died when a woman walked into the kitchen. She was tall and lovely with dark curly hair, tanned skin, and warm playful brown eyes. It was Drew but at least eight years older and that much more beautiful. But what really made the daughter of Aphrodite freeze was the little girl she was carrying. The future her that is.

The girl was maybe four or five with curly blond hair and purple almond shaped eyes, but there was no doubt about who her mother was when Drew looked at her face.

Older Drew laughed, a genuine, happy sound and planted a kiss on her daughter's chubby cheek. "Mommy-y-y," the little girl whined. "Too big for kisses."

"So you've said before," the woman said dryly but her eyes were twinkling. "Come on, I'm making Daddy's favorite tonight and I need a big girl to help me."

The blonde's eyes went wide. "Really?"

Her mom nodded solemnly like she was pledging her allegiance. "Do you know any?"

The girl scowled adorably. "Mom," she said exasperatedly.

Older Drew winked at her daughter and playfully tugged on one of her curly pigtails. "I'm just teasing, Polly. Go get me my apron."

Drew watched in fascination as her older self and her future daughter chased each other around the kitchen, making more of a mess than doing anything productive, but they were happy. That strange pang of longing hit her again as she watched Polly giggle uncontrollably on the laminate floor while being tickled by her mother.

Drew glanced at her own mother. "What is this?" she asked.

Aphrodite gave a long sad look and pointed at the front door, murmuring, "Just keep watching."

The purple painted door swung open on its hinges so fast it was a wonder it didn't just fly off. A man stepped into the house, and Drew reeled back in shock. It was Castor without a doubt. Same blond hair and violet eyes that not even his twin brother could match and the same little beauty mark on his chin. He was older though and even more handsome.

Drew blinked. She never thought of Castor as handsome before. Ever.

Over in the kitchen, Polly gasped and squealed, "Daddy!" before jumping out of her mother's hold. The little girl and Older Drew raced to foyer, laughing and poking each other. But Polly got to her father first. The girl launched herself up into Castor's arms, throwing her little arms around his neck just seconds before her mom embraced them both.

Drew froze and all time stopped when Castor mumbled out a quick but meaningful "You're beautiful" before her older self tugged him down into a kiss. An actual, loving one.

Aphrodite gripped her daughter's shoulder and suddenly they were back in Cabin 10, checkered floor and all. When Drew's head stopped spinning, she whirled around to stare at the love goddess. "What _was _that?" she demanded, an inkling of fear growing in her stomach.

Her mother looked at her like she was the greatest disappointment in the world. "It's what life could have been like for you, _should _have been, if you had only let Percy go."

Drew watched her mother in silent horror as the world sunk in. Polly, Castor, that quiet house in the suburbs…that was all supposed to be _hers_. But that couldn't be possible, at least not anymore….

"What happened, Drew?" Aphrodite said softly. "You used to know what love was, used to believe in it with all of your heart." The goddess paused to study her oldest daughter. "You're more beautiful than you've ever been, but I'm ashamed of you."

Whether it was anger over the realization of what she lost or her mother's words, Drew's temper flared. And she grabbed a stiletto to throw at Aphrodite, but when she turned back, the goddess was gone. She chucked it at the wall anyways as a strangled, animalistic scream that sounded suspiciously like "Castor" tore its way through her throat.

* * *

Rumors were delicious things and this one was the sweetest.

When Octavian came to her and told her how Percy _really _got all of his infamous scars, she was ecstatic. It was so brilliantly ironic and delightful, she couldn't keep it to herself. Everywhere Drew went, the story rolled off her tongue like a sweet melody and no one could refuse to listen to and believe her. It was like wildfire and she only watched in fascination as it spread.

But then it spread a little too far and the result was a pair of tired, angry, and oddly enough, vulnerable pair of sea green eyes boring into hers. "Why?" he asked simply.

Drew recovered her wits and smiled innocently. "I only thought it was fair for the camps to know everything about the boy they've entrusted with their lives." Her smile dropped. "At least now they know you're not perfect," she said venomously. "That you're just a weak, flawed boy who couldn't even stop running for a moment to just _save_ Castor from being beaten to death."_ Just to save my happily ever after_, she thought.

Percy's dropped only once when the son of Dionysus' name was mentioned but now he met Drew's gaze head-on. "At least I'm not a vain, bitter, brokenhearted monster who plays at being just a confident, beautiful child of Aphrodite."

It wasn't an insult, just a blunt truth and the two stood face to face with all pretenses and masks off. Drew could only stare off into the distance in shock as Percy gave her one last mournful look and walked away.

That night she stared into her mirror for hours saying, "You're beautiful" over and over again even though her cabinmates looked at her like she was crazy.

* * *

Years later, after Drew left Camp Half-Blood for good, she found a small letter in her mailbox. It was green, grey, and sky blue themed and had a simple, readable font but it managed to look elegant anyways. It was an invitation to Percy and Annabeth's double wedding with Jason and Piper.

As Drew crumbled it up into a ball, she recognized the small, spiky handwriting of Piper on the envelope. _Don't be stupid, you know you want to come._ A faint smile flickered across her face and she bought a violet dress for the occasion.

* * *

Nothing had changed much. Annabeth still looked like California beauty, Piper still wore feathers in her hair, Jason still looked like a blond superman, and Percy still had a sarcastic, troublemaker smile that could make practically anyone melt. But when Drew's eyes met the son of Poseidon's her mask fell again and he could see her for what she truly was, just like all those years ago.

Percy's eyes took on a sad, regretful look and he mouthed, _I'm sorry._

Her eyes softened and she mouthed back, _Don't be stupid. I'm sorry too. Congratulations_. The smile and wink she got afterwards made her heart soar. Not like how it once did when she thought she was in love, only in relief.

Drew still didn't have a daughter, a husband, or a grape themed home, and it hurt more than anything else in the world. But she was wiser, more humbled and controlled than ever before, and when she was old and grey, she'd meet a young daughter of Aphrodite who wanted more than anything to be called beautiful and make her mother proud.

No sense in repeating history, Drew, frail and ancient and all beauty faded from her face, would open up a notebook and write the words:

_Fact: Drew Tanaka was a narcissist._

* * *

**Sorry this took a bit longer to post, thinking of Drew just opened up a flood of embarrassing memories because I used be exactly like her. And I broke my wrist so typing is weird.**

**But anyways, I hope you liked this chapter. Please review!**


	8. Gabe Ugliano

Gabe didn't get what he was doing in the lobby of a recording studio.

Lobbies were stuffy and all about hygiene and he wasn't allowed to smoke or drink inside which irritated Gabe to no end, and he just didn't likethem. Some lobbies were painfully outdated and others had crappy decorations, but this one took the cake for being the _weirdest_.

Everything was grey – the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and a bunch of creepy cactuses that kind of resembled hands were planted in the corners. And Gabe could've sworn one of them just twitched. Every single seat was taken, and the people in them were either annoying or sketchy.

There was a woman bawling her eyes out babbling about some poodle named Gladiola she "couldn't possibly leave to fend for herself." There was an ancient looking man sitting next to Gabe with bifocals and a greasy wave of grey hair reading a sports magazine like it was a gift from God above. And then there was a young couple, the man had a few ribs sticking out and the woman had a bloody, mutilated face, but when Gabe pointed it out to them, they just started bickering like they weren't in any pain at all.

One would think that a smashed in mouth might hinder one's ability to speak, but the woman could talk just fine. Unfortunately. "If you had kept your eyes on the road—"

"U-u-ugh," the man groaned. "We've been over this; it was snowy, I lost control. Woman, if you do not shut up, I'll—"

"_You'll what_?" she shrieked, turning her head. Gabe almost puked at the grotesque image of her cracked skull and all the blood staining her hair red. "I'm already dead, _you idiot_, there's not much more you can do!"

The man got to his feet and towered over his wife. "Want to test that theory?" he bellowed.

Yeah, this lobby was downright _wrong _like ketchup with peanut butter. Gabe looked over at the guy with the grey hair. "Hey. Gramps?" he said, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"Eh?" the old man asked, scowling.

Gabe glared right back at him before glancing at the subscription label on his magazine. It read Nicodemus Nunley. Nicodemus? The guy must've been, like, a million years old. "Got any idea where we are, gramps?"

Nicodemus frowned before glancing around the lobby like he just realized he was there. Idiot. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "No." Then he sunk back into his magazine like Gabe didn't exist and the dead, bloody couple was perfectly normal.

This lobby was weird, sketchy, and creepy. So naturally, when that girl garbed in weird armor and a gaping hole going straight through her chest just walked out of the lobby, Gabe leapt off his seat and quickly followed her out of the glass double doors. If some little brat didn't have to put up with that place, well, then neither did Gabe.

But for all the DOA Recording Studios' adorable little quirks, it didn't make any sense how the poker player wound up in some stuffy _art _gallery. His skin and insides felt like they were being microwaved and a throbbing pain pulsed throughout his entire body. The best part? He was standing on a pedestal like a true attention—

"Mom!" screamed a little, nasally voice. Gabe's gaze darted to a little boy tugging on his mother's sleeve urgently. The kid's bright blue eyes were wide and he was staring at Gabe like he wasn't sure whether to be scared or amazed. "The statue's alive!"

Funny, the kid was pointing at Gabe.

The mom's eyes widened and her jaw went slack when she made eye contact with the poker player. She blinked and stumbled back, clutching her son's hand and pulling him with her like she just came face to face with a serial killer.

Gabe groaned a little and stood up. When he unclenched his hands, a bad hand of cards fluttered out of his grasp onto the floor. He wiggled his fingers and rotated his shoulders, groaning all the while because _crap_, he felt like he hadn't moved in ages. Gabe stumbled off of his little stand and tripping over a velvet red rope with a "DO NOT TOUCH" sign that all stupid museum pieces seemed to have…. Wait, why was it surrounding his pedestal?

"Security!"

Gabe's propped himself up to see the woman looking around the gallery frantically. "Security!" she called again.

The gambler's eyes widened. Oh. For him. Well, crap. Gabe struggled to his feet and shoved people out of the way, yelling, "Move it, geeks!" while the woman's screams for security rang throughout the entire building. His muscles were screeching in pain, and he was pretty sure he took a couple wrong turns, but before he knew it, he was bursting through the museum doors and hopping into a taxi.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," Gabe told the driver. "Step on it."

* * *

The woman was cute. She had dark hair and playful eyes, but the buff guy standing behind her kept Gabe from hitting on her. Whatever. The girl probably couldn't cook like his wife anyways.

"Where's Sally?" Gabe asked bluntly.

The guy gave the poker player a bored stare. "Not here," he said flatly, already closing the door.

Gabe glared at the punk. Oh, he was so not in the mood. He'd been stuck in a lobby, almost taken into custody, and his muscles still felt awkward and uncoordinated. Gabe did _not _need to deal with some grouchy, uptight kid who was camping out in _his _apartment. He shoved his hand against the familiar dirty, white door and pinned it open.

"Where. Is. Sally?" he said through gritted teeth, glaring up at the punk. It didn't matter if the kid had a kind of cool tattoo, Gabe wanted answers.

The woman hesitated, eyeing her boyfriend and the complete stranger that came banging on her door. Her eyebrows crinkled in slight confusion but she smiled politely if not a little uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong address."

Gabe managed to sneak in a glance just before the other man blocked his gaze. The place looked different; new wall colors and furniture, a whole lot cleaner, and it smelled like clean laundry, but it was _definitely _his apartment. He could even see an old beer stain on the carpet. "Uh, yeah," Gabe said irritably. "It has been for about six years now."

The couple traded puzzled expressions. "Listen, buddy," the guy said, "you've got the wrong place. Em and I've been living here for five years now. This _isn't _your apartment."

"Look," Em said, wearing a sympathetic expression, "maybe our landlord can help you out. His name's—"

"Eddie, yes, I know." Gabe ran a frustrated hand through his hair, what was left of it anyways. "I know, because _this is my apartment_."

Em sighed a little frustratedly and her boyfriend growled. "Okay," he said, "we've had a really long day, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but just—beat it, all right?" The kid slammed the door shut, and Gabe was left standing outside, more confused than ever before.

This was his apartment. It had been for a long time, so what were some teenagers doing in it? Footsteps pounded down the hallway behind Gabe and a familiar voice said, "Hey, look, man, people hear are trying to sleep, and I'm getting a lot of complaints so" – Eddie's breath hitched – "_Gabe_?"

The poker player turned around with a scowl. "Who else would it be, idiot? Now what the hell's going on? There a couple of rotten kids staying in my place, I woke up on a _pedestal_ – oh, and there was this recording studio—"

"You've been missing for six years," Eddie blurted.

Gabe glared at him. "Funny," he said sarcastically. "Now will you get these ki—"

"I'm being serious," Eddie insisted. He pulled out a folded magazine from beneath his arm and pointed at the date. "See? It's 2011."

Gabe's head spun. Five _years _of his life just wasted – he wasn't gone for more than, like, five or six _hours_. That just wasn't possible. "What?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Eddie shrugged helplessly. "No one knows, Sally just said you went out to get a couple of beers and never came back. She reported it to the police."

Gabe raised an eyebrow. _He _didn't get his beers, _Sally _did so that was a big, fat lie. "Oh really?"

The landlord bobbed his head. "Yeah, but the cops couldn't find you anywhere. She and Percy moved out as soon as you were officially 'dead.'" Eddie shrugged a little. "It's actually a nice place."

Gabe scowled. Typical Sally. Didn't even stick around in case he showed up again, well, surprise for her. He had had a sucky, _extremely _confusing day, and now he just really wanted TV and one of her homemade meals. "She did, did she? Where is this 'nice place?'"

* * *

Sally's doorman was scary.

He was wearing a black suit with a tombstone grey shirt and silver ring and that all seemed fairly normal, but then his face looked a little like Adolf Hitler. With impossibly pale skin, dark hair, and dark mesmerizing eyes just _full _of power the guy was pretty intimidating.

Against his will, Gabe leaned back a little. "I'm here to see Sally Jac—"

"Oh," the man cut in, his voice smooth and persuasive without even trying, "I know why you're here, Gabriel Ugliano. What's interesting is _how _you're here." He smiled idly. "Feels horrible, doesn't it? Being in the land of the living when really, you don't belong here at all."

Chills went down Gabe's back and he scrunched his face up. "I don't know what you're talking about…" He squinted at the man's name tag. "…Hades. Just ask Sally, I'm her husband."

Hades studied the poker player like he was a moldy spot on an apple. "Not anymore, and now I can see why."

Gabe's temper flared along with his nostrils, and he got up into the Hades' face. "Want to say that to me agai—"

"I suppose I haven't been very clear so I'll explain again," he said like the other man hadn't even spoken or invaded his personal space. The cold look in his eye told Gabe that if he didn't listen up, he'd be in trouble.

"You are dead," Hades said bluntly. "You have been for" – Hades pulled out a black iPad and started reading aloud – "six years. Gabriel Ugliano, 1965-2005. Killed by Sally Jackson with the use of Medusa's head and laid to rest at the…" He raised an eyebrow. "…Soho Museum. Deeds: unknown. Crimes: unknown. Judgement: unavailable." He put the iPad away with a cold, reptilian smile. "But I can tell you, you will not be going to Elysium, I guarantee it."

Gabe suddenly realized that he was all alone; there was no other living thing within sight. He quickly stepped away from the freak. "Who are you?" he snapped.

The doorman tilted his head a little bit to the side. "You've read my name tag."

Hades. Gabe never paid much attention in school but he was pretty sure… He barked out a laugh. "_You're _the god of the sea?"

The so-called "god" sneered at him. "No, that would be my brother Poseidon. Be _very _glad I am not him. If I were, well, you'd be back in the Underworld's waiting room by now." He straightened and pulled his shoulders back, standing like a king. "I am Hades," he declared, "I am the god of the dead, and _you _are an escapee."

Now normally if someone said something like that, Gabe would laugh and say _Yeah, right, keep telling yourself that_. But looking at Hades now, _really _looking…well, it was hard to write off the agonized souls trapped in a doorman's suit as normal.

Gabe swallowed against the unbidden terror rising in his throat. "And you're going to take me back," he guessed.

"No," Hades said coolly.

The poker player blinked at him before getting irritated. "Then why—"

"Oh, I have plenty in store for you in my realm, Gabriel. My son helped invented your form of punishment." A fleeting, warm smile that looked downright unnatural on the god of the dead crossed his face. "It's quite creative."

Gabe's stomach twisted uncomfortably and his heart was beating faster than ever. Normal kids were a pain, just look at his punk stepson. A kid of Hades, however…

Gabe swallowed. "But you're not taking me back now," he said uncertainly.

Hades gave him a look he couldn't interpret. "All souls will come to me in the end. Every man, woman, child, the Underworld is their final destination. You're no different." A strange light in eye made Gabe even more uneasy, something he didn't think was possible. "Percy Jackson has proved to be…helpful to both me and my household."

The punk was buddies with the lord of the Underworld? Gabe was aware the kid was a freak and an idiot but that was pushing it.

"You've made quite an enemy in my brother, Gabriel. He doesn't hold grudges nearly as well as me, but he can be quite vengeful. I believe that letting you remain in the land of the living will prove to be a cruel enough curse." A ghost of a gleeful smile flitted across Hades' pale face. "And if not? Well, that's what the Fields of Punishment are for."

Hades elegantly raised his hand, and Gabe shrunk away, eyes wide. Crap, what was he going to do? Send skeletons after him, turn him into a cockroach? The poker player was just starting to hyperventilate a bit when the god of the dead snapped his fingers, an strange, echoing sound so loud it could be heard streets away, and the Gabe was suddenly on a fire escape, looking in on someone's kitchen.

He had to admit it was nice. It was well-kept and homey with all of the photos and notes pinned on the fridge, but what really grabbed Gabe's eye was the glass jar of cookies sitting on the counter. For one, he was _starving_. Two, they were blue. Maybe within the six years he'd been dead, he'd missed quite a lot and now blue food was the new thing, but he highly doubted it. The cookies' were about the size of Gabe's fists and _littered _with chocolate chips in a way only Sally Jackson could do.

Not to mention, there was a worn but familiar picture of a young boy with sea green eyes and dark hair. Percy Jackson, the one and only. Man, he hated that little punk. Gabe was looking in on Sally's kitchen.

"No," said a familiar but choked voice, like she was trying not to cry. "When the gods are involved, mortal police aren't going to be much use, you know that."

A door slammed shut and two pairs of footsteps padded towards the kitchen. Gabe quickly stumbled out of sight, keeping one eye peeked around the corner. A pretty woman with long dark brown hair and sweet, ocean blue eyes stepped into the kitchen and placed her bag on the counter. Just looking at her brought back nostalgic memories of bean dip, lasagna, and cookies. There was Gabe's wife.

But who was the bumbling idiot walking behind her? He had salt and pepper hair and tired brown eyes, he kind of struck Gabe as an actor or something. But he thought the guy looked stupid with his arm around Sally's shoulders.

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He and Sally had matching pairs dark circles under their eyes and their postures were slouched like they hadn't had a good night's rest in weeks. Maybe more. "Is this how it's always going to be?" he said tiredly. "We sit around, not even sure if he's okay or not?"

Sally smiled mournfully. "That's the way it's always been. Every year since he found out, he's been running off on quests." She bit her lip. "They need him, I know they do, but" – she made a frustrated sound – "you'd think the goddess of marriage and family would be more sympathetic. I mean, Percy's accomplished so much, even for a demigod, but without his memories…"

The man looked at her with a sad but adoring twinkly in his eye. Gabe didn't realize why the guy was leaning forward until his lips brushed against Sally's. The poker player's eyes went wide, and he almost fell off the railing. Sally was…

Gabe's eyes shot towards the brunette's hand. That definitely wasn't the ring he found in the cereal box. No, it was silver with a little sapphire twinkling in the center and it looked _expensive_. Sally wasn't his wife anymore.

The realization made Gabe grit his teeth and punch to brick wall. Frustration overwhelmed his exhaustion and he thought, _You better be freaking kidding me here. _His wife freaking _murdered _him and got remarried to some nerd. Heck, that could've been why she killed him in the first place.

Sally smiled softly at her husband. "I think I'm going to take that bath."

The other man nodded. "I'll get the coffee going."

The brunette pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks, Paul," she said, walking out of Gabe's view which was probably a good thing for her. If she stayed any longer, there was no guarantee the poker player wouldn't just climb in there and wring her little neck himself.

Paul groaned, rubbing his temples and mumbling, "Percy, how has your mom managed it all these years?"

Gabe snorted. That was something he asked himself everyday too. The kid was just…_worthless_. Not to mention just a complete waste of space. When the punk wasn't at school, Gabe had to give up his office just so the runt had a place to sleep. The couch worked just fine too! But no, Sally insisted her baby have his own room. Spoiled little runt.

"Mom," said an obnoxiously familiar voice. It sounded lower, Gabe supposed being five years older and already gone through puberty might do that to a kid, but it also sounded sort of fuzzy. He peeked one eye into the kitchen again.

Paul was standing over the answering machine, mouth agape and clutching a mug of coffee in one hand. He quickly hit the pause button and set his cup down. Brown eyes wide, he looked to the direction his wife just left. "Sally!" he yelled. "Sally, get down here!"

In an impressively short amount of time, Sally was at Paul's side wrapped in a towel, hair sopping wet and dripping onto the floor. Her brows crinkled and she frowned at her husband. "Paul, what—"

"Just listen," he said excitedly, hitting the play button.

"Hey," the message started again, "I'm alive."

Gabe frowned a little at that. What was he in a gang now? Did he take drugs? Were the cops after him? They weren't completely unbelievable options. After all, the punk was already a delinquent at the young, innocent age of eight.

"Hera put me to sleep for a while, and then she took my memory and…" The kid trailed off, and Gabe's head raced. Hera. He was pretty sure she was the queen and peacock goddess. Figures the kid would get on _her _bad side.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm on a quest—" He stopped himself before speaking again. "I'll make it home. I promise. Love you." The answering machine went quiet and Sally burst into tears. Whether it was the sad or happy crying, Gabe wasn't sure. The woman just cried whenever she felt like it.

Paul wrapped his arms around his wife in an embrace, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, sobs racking her thin frame.

"Stupid woman," Gabe muttered. Sally always was so emotional.

"I disagree," a low voice interjected. "Hopeful and sacrificial? Yes. But stupid? You've never been more wrong."

Gabe almost jerked off the fire escape to his death. His neck snapped to his left to see a man lounging against the railing casually. He had sturdy build, tanned skin, hair just as dark as Hades, and regal features. He radiated power even though he was dressed in just a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and a pair of sunglasses which Gabe found ridiculous because of how dark it was.

If the poker player saw the guy anywhere else, he would've just written him off as some sort of professional fisherman and just kept walking. But his slightly brooding expression and dark complexion struck Gabe as eerily familiar.

He studied the fisherman with a frown. "Who're you? Have we met before or something?"

The corners of the guy's lips quirked up humorlessly, and he chuckled coldly as he removed his sunglasses. "If we had, your life would have ended long before 2005, and you would have had a much less merciful death, I assure you." Intense sea green eyes stared into Gabe's, and he drew a quick intake of breath.

He'd seen those eyes before. Gabe had seen them sad, scared, defiant, and angry, and more often than not, he was the reason for those bitter emotions that didn't belong anywhere on a little boy's face. Those sea green eyes belonged on only one person.

Gabe's mouth dropped open a bit. "Is that you, punk?"

The man raised an eyebrow and gave Gabe a look that said, _Seriously now? _The poker player mentally slapped himself a bit. The kid was, like, what? Twelve when he died so he had to be somewhere around seventeen, and the fisherman was…actually it was kind of hard to tell how old he was, but he definitely wasn't a kid.

"Then who are you?" Gabe said impatiently.

The fisherman looked at him coolly. "I believe you mistook my brother for me. I am Poseidon, the God of the Sea, Stormbringer, Earthshaker."

The poker player inched away slightly. Meeting two gods in one day, somehow that didn't sound especially good. "What do you want with me?"

Quick as lightning, Poseidon's hand darted out to grip the crown of Gabe's bald head. He gasped in pain at the burning sensation and tried to pull away, but the sea god wouldn't release his hold, not even a little. At an alarming rate, the pain increased until Gabe was on his knees gasping for breath and blinking out the stars in his vision.

Somehow the god's clear voice managed to cut through Gabe's agony and he heard him say, "I have sired many heroes in my lifetime. Orion, Theseus, but none can compare to one son in particular." Poseidon closed his eyes. "Slayer of Kronos, the hero of Olympus…and my favorite son. Perseus." Poseidon's voice held so much pain and love when describing his son that Gabe didn't doubt it for a moment. Then the god's eyes snapped open to zero in on his. "You would know him best as Percy Jackson or 'punk.'"

It took five seconds to compute, and when Gabe had, his first thoughts were: _Well, crap_ and _You're freaking kidding me here_. No way the kid was a son of an all-powerful god. He got _D_s in school, always got picked last in PE, and was just…_nothing_. The punk wouldn't even put up much a fight when Gabe hit him, just cowered in the corner. He knew better to voice any of this out loud though. The pain was only getting worse, and Poseidon looked like a true Greek god, vengeful, powerful, and someone to be feared.

"What are you doing to me?" Gabe asked through clenched teeth and closed eyes.

For several moments, Poseidon didn't answer, just kept his hand on the poker players forehead. Gabe's thoughts filled with all kinds of foul words he would've loved say if he ever saw Hades' pale, Adolf Hitler face again. Wouldn't take him back to the Underworld? Well, _fabulous_. The god of the dead would just let his little brother take care of that. Gabe was going to die. First, death by Medusa and now by facepalm. Perfect.

Suddenly the god pulled his hand away, and Gabe fell face first onto the rusty floor of the fire escape. "What," he gasped. "W-what—"

Poseidon's back was turned to him as he stared out at the skyline. "Every pain my son feels, every nightmare, any form of pain my son experiences will be on your head. You will feel every blow he is dealt, every sting of every cut, every nightmare, heartache, _everything_." He turned and gave Gabe a smile that was nowhere near reaching his eyes. "You've always enjoyed making him suffer. Let's see how you deal with suffering alongside him."

* * *

"Hey, are you okay?"

Gabe huddled against the building with his knees folded up to his chest and his hands pressed to his ears. The poker player squeezed his eyes and rocked back and forth. _Please, Percy_, he prayed, _not another one. Okay? Please, please, please._

Gabe knew the second his vision started to go black that he was about to live through another hellish nightmare.

"_Behind you!" screamed Annabeth. She looked horrible. Her hair was matted with blood, her ankle was disgustingly swollen, she was too skinny to be healthy, and cuts littered her body, but her eyes, although tired and wary, were still determined and alert as ever._

_Gabe – well, Percy, really – turned around to see an ugly thing with glowing red eyes and mismatching legs lunged at him, mouth open and sharp fangs gleaming wickedly. Gabe vaguely remembered the two teenagers calling them empousa in a past dream. With quick reflexes and expert precision, Percy swung up his sword, slicing her down the middle. The empousa howled and vaporized into a dark, misty substance, leaving the nothing behind._

_Percy nodded at his girlfriend. "Thanks," he panted, draping her arm across his shoulder in order to keep her off her ankle. The bubblewrap – or whatever the kids originally wrapped it with – was utterly useless now._

_Annabeth swallowed a little and nodded. "Don't mention it."_

_Percy looked up towards two tall, imposing doors, each side chained to the ground and wide open. _Oh, _Gabe thought_, gods, not this part. _"The Doors of Death," he said, his voice a little full of wonder and he gently squeezed his girlfriend's hand. "We've made it."_

_Annabeth rolled her eyes, but Gabe could tell that he was just as amazed as her boyfriend. "You don't need to sound so surprised, you know."_

_Percy barked out a small, choked laugh. "Well, after everything that's happened…"_

_The blonde wrinkled brows and gripped Percy's hand tighter. "I know, Seaweed Brain." She wet her lips and studied the Doors like they were a marvelous but dangerous piece of art. "But we're here now. We're almost out, as soon as we get back to Camp Half-Blood everything will be fine."_

_Poseidon's kid stared into Annabeth's eyes. "You really believe that?"_

_She opened her mouth to respond but she must've seen something in Percy's eyes that she couldn't lie to. Instead she sighed, hanging her head. "No," Annabeth said brokenly. "Not really." An empty laugh echoed in the pit. "But it was worth a shot, wasn't it?"_

_Percy looked down at his worn shoes and adjusted his sword in his hand. "We've made it," he repeated. Gabe wasn't sure if he was saying that to himself or his girlfriend, but either way wouldn't have made a difference in the events about to unfold. The son of Poseidon supported Annabeth and together, they shuffled to the Doors slowly, muscles screeching in pain._

_Percy grinned down at the blonde, and Gabe thought, _No, you idiot! Keep your guard up!

"_You know," he mused, his voice was light like it always was when the kid was about to make a joke. _

No, no, no_, the poker player moaned_. Pay attention; Tartarus ain't the place for this_. _

_Percy's sea green eyes twinkled mischievously. "I think Leo—" Searing pain worse than anything ever imaginable erupted diagonally across his torso, and Gabe screamed in agony along with Percy, feeling the wound as if it was his own skin being ripped open._

A hand gripped Gabe's shoulder, and he gasped, flattening his back against the brick wall and extending his arms out in front of him defensively. A woman around his age with blonde, shoulder length hair and brown eyes raised her gloved hands in a peaceful gesture, stepping away for his comfort. She was pretty, in a sort of soccer mom way.

Gabe panted, closing his eyes before falling a little to the side.

"Whoa!" the woman said, catching him as best as she could and steadying him. "You okay?"

The poker played huffed, his breath visible in the chilly weather. Of course not. He'd never been "okay." Not since he came back to life, but obviously, he couldn't tell _her _that. Instead, Gabe glared at her, pushing her hands away and struggling to his feet. "Yeah," he grumbled, "just peachy."

The woman gave him a testy look. "Well, you don't need to be so snippy. I wasn't the one passed out on the sidewalk."

Gabe blinked at her before sighing rigidly. He was too tired to deal with her crap. Ever since Poseidon's curse, he'd been having nightmares whether he was awake or not. Whether they were prophetic or from his past, Percy had dreams whenever he slept, and of course, Gabe did too. They weren't always bad dreams, but oh gods, he just wanted a normal night's rest.

Not to mention, he was a behind society by six years and still trying to adjust to making his own meals (instant mac and cheese) and his new job (MacDonalds). In short, he was stressed.

Gabe stumbled and the woman caught him saying, "Okay, do I need to call an ambulance?"

He looked up at her. "This isn't any of your—" Gabe sucked in a shaky breath and refrained. She _was _just trying to help, heck, if he saw someone lying against a building all curled up, he sure wouldn't have offered to call for help. Gabe rubbed his head. "Just tired," he muttered, "my life's been pretty messed up since…"

"Since what?" The blonde studied him a little bit before her eyes widened in realization. "Oh," she said, nodding in understanding. "Divorced?"

_Well, in a way…_ Honestly, that was the least of Gabe's problems, but yeah, that just added a little more misery to his already cursed hellhole of a life. He nodded once. "Left me for some nerd."

She pressed her lips together and gave him a sympathetic look. "Left me for some coworker. Don't worry, I know how it feels."

"I don't really blame her for it, though." Gabe blinked, realizing that that came from him, which was completely stupid because he didn't regret anything. Not, not really.

_I mean_, he thought, _yeah, our marriage was a little…unstable and little rough, but she _murdered _me_. Oddly enough, Gabe couldn't find it in his heart to hate her. He scowled and muttered, "Stupid curse. Making me soft."

"Ah, pardon?"

Gabe stared at her, a deer in the headlights. "Oh, I'm, uh, I—"

She cut him off with a raised hand. "You know what? I don't want to know." She hooked onto his arm and started leading him in the opposite direction.

The poker player narrowed his eyes. The blonde was pretty small and even if he was a little out of shape, there was no way she was any sort of a threat. But this _was _New York…. "Where're we going?" he said, ready to make a break for it.

"My place." The woman raised an eyebrow at his skeptical and untrusting expression. "If I was going to hurt you, I would've done it already. Besides," she said, shrugging, "where else are you going to go? No offense, but you look and smell like you live in a sewer."

Gabe scowled. It wasn't like he could rent some fancy apartment on minimum wage. "I don't even know you."

The blonde tilted her head like she just realized that. Then she smiled slightly. "I'm Sandra Kerr." She faltered. "Well, Sandra Lawrence now. I'm a pre-algebra teacher at Yancy Academy, and I'm one hell of a cook."

Needless to say, Gabe's resolve crumbled.

* * *

It was a weird relationship. Heck, Gabe wasn't even sure if it could be called that. All he did was work at MacDonalds and sleep on the couch in Sandra's living room and eat whatever she gave him (which wasn't a bad thing). All she did was let him live with her, wrinkle her nose and tell him to "take a shower, idiot," and make him feel stupid.

He didn't know why when he asked her how long she'd been a teacher Yancy, her face went blank and confused like that memory was just a blank spot. And she didn't know why he had nightmares and flinched every now and then like he'd been hurt or why when asked about it, he'd stare deep into her eyes and say, "Because I made a horrible mistake. I-I _did _something horrible. I know that now."

But it worked.

They were Sandra Lawrence and Gabe Ugliano. They lived together. They knew everything and absolutely nothing about each other. Gabe grossed Sandra out to the point of no return, and Sandra's sharp tongue cut him in ways he didn't think was possible. They'd been together for five years, and they wouldn't have it any other way. And deep down, despite all their bickering and insults, they did care about each other (not romantically, no – Zeus forbid; marriage was obviously not either of their strong points).

So when Sandra walked downstairs into her kitchen, looking forward to a nice cup of coffee to start her day, and she saw her flatmate already sitting at the table with an empty, glassy look in his eyes after experiencing a nightmare that wasn't even his originally, she softened. The blonde sighed and nudged Gabe's foot, internally wincing when his eyes remained vacant.

"Hey," she said, "get your butt dressed, we're going for a stroll."

The poker player sighed. Walks were supposed to be relaxing and all, but frankly, they took effort, were boring, and he had better things to do than walk around and step in dog poop that some idiot forgot to clean. But for being hilariously short, Sandra had quite a will and a surprisingly colorful array of vocabulary that would put a sailor's to shame, so Gabe mutely pulled on a sweatshirt and followed the blonde out of the building.

He had no idea that it would be the last time.

* * *

Sandra's breath hitched and Gabe glanced at her, wondering if all her "exercising is healthy" crap finally resulted in the heart attack he knew it would. Instead, the blonde was grinning and clasping her hands like a stupid schoolgirl.

"Oh," she gushed, "look, it's a garden wedding!"

Gabe didn't even bother looking. "It won't last," he deadpanned, barely even hearing her voice. Last night, the kid had a particularly bad dream. One of him actually. Of the first time Gabe ever hit—

Sandra gasped again, this time in surprise. "I know one of the grooms," she stated, squinting. "Yes, I think that's him. He was the one that kept calling me 'Mrs. Dodds'…"

This time Gabe turned to actually look at the ceremony. He had to admit it was nice, but super crowded, like the couple – or couples actually – had invited every single person they'd said hi to. There weren't even enough seats to accommodate everyone. The guests were sitting on the grass, rocks, fountains, even up the trees. All eyes were on the couples, and it was easy to see why.

One couple was _gorgeous_. The groom was tall, buff and resembled a blond superman. Personally, Gabe thought Clark looked better with black hair anyways, but still, the groom looked pretty good. And his wife-to-be had dark skin and feathers braided into her hair wearing a simple, sleek gown with very little detail, but she was still stunning.

The _other _bride however…

Gabe's head spun and he almost tipped over. That was Annabeth Chase. He _knew _it was. After all, he saw the blonde in Percy's dreams practically every night. She was even more beautiful in real life. But then, that could only mean that the groom…

The poker player slowly moved his gaze to Annabeth's left. His eyes met a tall, strong young man with dark hair and tanned skin and even though he was far away, Gabe could still make out the vibrant sea green of his eyes. He's posture was confident and relaxed, and when he looked at his bride, he visibly softened. Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus extraordinaire.

The poker player stepped towards the reception, eyes wide and locked on the couple. Seeing them in person for the first time, standing together garbed in a regal, Grecian wedding gown that made Annabeth look like a goddess herself and a classy tuxedo that just emphasized how grown up Percy was, Gabe had never been more hypnotized. Even from yards away, the duo radiated power and invincibility in love and he couldn't tear his eyes away for more than a second.

He made himself comfortable on an empty wooden bench, eyes still glued on the newlywed Percy and Annabeth Jackson. They were laughing, being swarmed by their friends, and Gabe could see Sally crying, hugging Annabeth and Percy while Paul beamed with utter pride at his stepson.

_That _was something precious. Watching them made something sink in Gabe's gut.

With a clever twist, Percy dipped his bride, a surprised laugh escaping her pink lips, and kissed her to which everyone cheered and applauded. One mischievous boy stood up on one of the tables and yelled, "To the pond!"

"No!" said Annabeth, tipping her head back to glare at the boy and looking downright terrifying even upside down. "_Not _the pond!"

The boy raised his hands in defeat, and everyone roared with laughter again.

_That _was something priceless and powerful and something, Gabe was starting to realize, that he completely missed out on. That was a family. Messy, impractical, and overall an absolute pain, but it was moments like that that _completely _made up for it all. It would've made up for bearing with annoying little kids patiently, and giving up an office he didn't even need. And Gabe simply wasn't allowed to share it. He'd lost that right when he first laid a hand on his stepson.

With a heavy heart, Gabe slowly stood up and left Percy and Sally to their own well-deserved happiness. His eyes darted up to see a man in a deep black suit that stood out against the vibrant colors of the day, waiting in the open with his hands clasped and his dark eyes focused on the poker player. Gabe's stomach twisted, and he swallowed, looking down.

"I have to leave now," he said, knowing Sandra was following right behind him.

He could practically feel her confused stare boring into the back of his head. "Go where?"

Gabe licked his lips, stepping towards the god. "To a lobby," he told her. "A lobby with grey walls and floors and cactuses that look like hands." His hands started shaking a little. "And then to a place where horrible souls like mine belong."

Sandra's footsteps faltered. "Gabe?"

He turned a smiled bitterly. "Hopefully, I'll never see you annoying face ever again."

Sandra rolled her eyes, but the poker player could see that she was confused and a little scared. "I'm not the one who looks like tuskless walrus here." Then she cleared her throat. "So, um, why – exactly – are _you_ going to a place for…" She laughed a little uneasily. "The way you say it, it sounds like you're going to hell."

When her flatmate didn't respond, she cleared her throat and said, voice wavering a little, "Why would you be going there?"

Gabe looked deep into her brown eyes and said, "Because I made a horrible mistake. I _did _something horrible." He glanced back at where Percy stood, big and powerful, and in no way a worthless punk and at Sally, perfect in every way. "I know that now more than I _ever _have." He said it with such conviction Sandra didn't doubt him for a moment.

The poker player continued walking to Hades. "And I deserve every bit of what I'm about to get in the Underworld."

At least now Gabe got what he was doing in the lobby.

* * *

…**Yeah, really didn't know what to do about Gabe so I improvised. Sorry.**

**Anyways, thank you so much to **_**everyone**_** who reviewed. It's really encouraged and helped me improve as a writer, and I can't thank you guys enough. However, I only have one more chapter after this (please no requests, I've known from the beginning who I would end with). As much as I loved writing this fanfic, I really want to branch out and write other stories and writing two fics at the same time just isn't going to work well for me.**

**Once again, thank you so much! I hope Gabe's one-shot lived up to your standards.**


	9. Last Chapter

**Warning: OOC and sketchy plot, unintentionally slightly AU (maybe), failed angst, and just "hahaha-totally-not-sure-what-I-wrote." Enjoy.**

* * *

The first time he saw the kid, he wasn't impressed. No one could really blame him of course. The kid was a short, scrawny mess of limbs, with eyes too large for his face and if it wasn't for the dark, jagged horn in the kid's clenched (and slightly shaking) fist, he would've never believed that _he _killed the Minotaur.

His cabinmates snickered when he stumbled into the cabin, and the son of Hermes couldn't help but chuckle a little too. The kid was just so small and insignificant and despite what the whole camp was buzzing about, Luke had trouble believing that _he _was a child of the Big Three. This kid couldn't _possibly _be the oh-so special son of Poseidon he and Kronos were waiting for.

Without knowing why, Luke found himself standing up for the kid. "Now, now, campers," he started. "That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

When Percy's distinct green eyes darted up to meet his own, Luke experienced a bad case of deja vu. But still, the kid smiled up at him (only a little hesitantly) with innocent, trusting eyes, dimples and all, and Luke felt like he had seen it before.

The son of Hermes welcomed him, made him feel wanted and not much of a burden even though Cabin 11 was _completely _filled, and Percy took the last open spot they had. And honestly, Luke was having trouble even cramming his butt in at the Hermes table. But the kid wasn't too bad. A little slow on the uptake maybe, but he was honestly starting to grow on Luke. Rapidly.

But then, by some stroke of luck, Percy managed to disarm the son of Hermes using his own maneuver. In front of the entire cabin. Luke covered up his unsettlement with smiles and words of encouragement, but still, he wondered if anyone saw the steam coming out of his ears.

For the next few days, Luke watched the kid, trained him, tested him, did his best to narrow down who his godly parent was even though Percy really only excelled at one test (canoeing, seriously?). But he couldn't help but worry that the kid would only be another undetermined demigod. Just another unwanted product of an insignificant of some lovesick god.

For that common occurrence and the gods' overall lack of care (and love), Luke would've left this godforsaken clubhouse of screwed up demigods long ago if it wasn't for the fact that Kronos demanded that he wait. Wait for the child of Poseidon. But frankly, it'd been months since he stole the master bolt and helm of darkness, and Luke didn't see that special demigod popping up any time soon.

But that night, Konos came to Luke in his dreams with orders. The reasons behind them were a little unclear, but the Titan made it obvious that he was not to be disobeyed. Or failed. Like the last time.

Still, Luke couldn't help but feel a sinking guilt in his stomach for summoning that monster into camp because, let's face it, Percy was going to get eaten alive by that monster, "natural" with a sword or not.

Nevertheless, orders were orders and emotions were nothing in comparison to the new age Kronos had in store. So Luke summoned a hellhound, already saying bye-bye to the kid. Only Percy didn't die; Chiron saved him just in time. And Luke watched the hellhound disintegrate with morbid curiosity over what sort of nightmares Kronos had in store for him for failing his orders.

But his worries were quickly pushed away and suddenly everyone was dropping to their knees and looking at a certain green eyed boy in awe. Dropping the flag, Luke swiftly knelt between Travis and Malcolm and muddled over the fact that he was wrong – deeply, horribly wrong. There, twirling above the kid's head, was a glowing green trident. Percy Jackson had been claimed. _He_ was the son of Barnacle Beard, the demigod Luke had been waiting for. Suddenly, the whole canoeing thing made sense.

With an impassive, cold feeling gripping his heart once again, Luke pushed the sea spawn harder than ever, claiming that it was for his own good, that Percy'd need it to survive. Which was true, just Luke only really cared if the kid made it to the Underworld. After that…well, it was unlikely he'd ever make it out of Tartarus anyways.

When Percy chose Grover and Annabeth Chase to accompany him on his quest, Luke wondered in the back of his head when the son of Poseidon and the daughter of Athena got so chummy. As he watched the two demigods stood together on Half-Blood Hill an uncomfortable knot settled in his stomach though he didn't really know why.

Luke blamed it on the small, lurking suspicion that Percy wouldn't use the flying shoes. That not even he would be dumb enough to venture into Zeus' domain. So when the kid Iris-messaged him, Luke took the opportunity to ask if he was wearing the shoes. When Percy claimed that they had come in handy, the son of Hermes inwardly sighed in relief. The plan was still intact, the cursed shoes would do their job.

Oddly enough, that comforting little piece of information didn't make that knot go away. Luke didn't know where it came from, but he subtly hinted that maybe Annabeth stole the master bolt. For some reason the thought of Percy and her being close – closer than Luke was with her and Thalia – absolutely sickened him. The quickest expression of irritation that flashed across Percy's face only made the sensation worse.

* * *

"My lord," Luke greeted solemnly, kneeling towards the pit.

"What news of the sea spawn?" Kronos said, voice ancient and icy. Never did like small talk.

Still knelt and head bowed, Luke informed, "Percy Jackson approaches the Underworld as we speak, my lord."

"Percy Jackson," the Titan mused. "Yes, the exchange went well, I see." His voice took on a harder edge. "And he suspects nothing?"

"Nothing, my lord," the son of Hermes said, a small condescending smile spreading across his scarred face. "He is as ignorant as the rest."

"Deception upon deception," Kronos said, thinking aloud in repressed glee. "Excellent."

"Truly, my lord, you are well-named the Crooked One." Luke hesitated a moment before pressing on. "But was it really necessary? I could have brought you what I stole directly—"

"You?"

Luke flinched at Kronos's disgusted tone. _Vlacas_, should've just kept his mouth shut.

"You have already your limits," Kronos spat. "You would have failed me completely had I not intervened."

Luke winced and struggled through his words, "But, my lord—"

"Peace, little servant," Kronos commanded. "Our six months have brought us much. Zeus's anger has grown. Poseidon has played his most desperate card. Now we shall use it against him. Shortly you shall have the reward you wish, and your revenge. As soon as both items are delivered into my hands…" The Titan's voice wavered. "…but wait. He is here."

Chills went down his spine, and Luke jerked to his feet, all sense of formality forgotten in favor of panicking. "What?" he said, tense and disbelieving. "You summoned him, my lord?"

"No." Luke could feel his master's attention move away from him. "Blast his father's blood – he is too changeable, too unpredictable. The boy brought himself hither."

The demigod's jaw went slack. No way was the kid that strong. "Impossible!"

The Titan's cold, overwhelming power turned back onto Luke briefly. "For a weakling such as you, perhaps," Kronos snarled cruelly. He slowly focused back on a spot to Luke's right.

The son of Hermes grit his teeth. Although he'd rather bite off his own tongue than admit it, the son of the sea god was better than he originally thought. The kid seemed to have a knack for proving Luke wrong. But then, mind wandering off to Thalia, strong and powerful and fierce, and then _Percy_...well, once again he didn't impress.

"So…you wish to dream of your quest, young half-blood?" Kronos challenged mockingly. "Then, I will oblige. Hail, the conquering hero!"

Deep in the recesses of his servant's sleeping mind, the Titan hissed, _Leave_. When he woke up, Luke almost lopped off Travis's head out of pure frustration.

* * *

Luke bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. The new bead was pitch black with trident shimmering in the middle, and it made him green with envy. While it might've been a victory for the kid, Luke saw it as evidence of his greatest failure. He crushed it into pieces when he thought no one was looking.

Luke tasted bile as he announced, "The vote was unanimous. This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!"

He almost puked when they cheered.

* * *

"You," Percy said numbly, sea green eyes wide with shock and slowly clouding with anger as he looked up from the scorpion to his "friend."

Took the kid long enough. Annabeth's brains were probably the sole reason the sea spawn even survived his quest. Luke calmly stood up and brushed off his pants.

"I saw a lot out there in the world, Percy," he started. "Didn't you feel it—the darkness gathering, the monsters growing stronger? Didn't you realize how useless it all is? All the heroics—being pawns of the gods. They should've been overthrown thousands of years ago, but they've hung on thanks to us half-bloods.

Percy stared at him like _he _was the insane one. "Luke," he started, a calm anger coating his words, "you're talking about our parents."

He forced out a startled, slightly wild laugh. Oh gods, don't even get him started on _that_. Of course Percy would have no idea what the problem was. Luke had to _hide _from his mother, and his father was no help whatsoever. Whereas Percy's worked at a candy store and got him all the blue candy a kid could ever want and looked at her son like he was the greatest gift she could ever ask for. Luke blinked a little. How the Hades did he know that?

"That's supposed to make me love them?" Luke demanded. "Their precious 'Western civilization' is a disease, Percy. It's killing the world. The only way to stop it is to burn it to the ground, start over with something more honest."

Percy's eyes flashed, and for just a second, Luke saw the family resemblance between him and the old sea god. "You're as crazy as Ares."

The son of Hermes clenched his teeth. "Ares is a fool. He never realized the true master he was serving." He drew a measured breath to calm himself. "If I had time, Percy, I could explain. But I'm afraid you won't live that long."

The scorpion crawled higher up Percy's leg, but to the kid's credit, he didn't appear very fazed. "Kronos. That's who you serve."

The air got colder, and Luke was itching to roll his eyes. Stupid kid. "You should be more careful with names," he warned.

Percy's eyes darkened with understanding. "Kronos got you to steal the master bolt and the helm. He spoke to you in your dreams."

On the nose.

"_Serve me," lulled a cold, powerful voice._

_Bodies littered the ground. His friends' bodes to be exact. Some bodies were limp and twisted ways that Luke didn't think were physically possible. Others were torn and gruesome like their last moments were spent as a monster's chew toy. But no matter what, their glazed eyes stared up accusingly at the sky._

_They had absolutely nothing on the less recent corpses though. The ones that were currently in the decomposing stage. The stench of rotting flesh invaded Luke's nose, and he gagged, closing his eyes and blocking out the feel of blood soaking through his shoes and staining his feet red. _

_In the distance, he could hear a celebration on Olympus. The Muses were playing party music (at least, that was what it sounded like to him), and Luke could just invision twelve, all-powerful Olympians lounging in their thrones, sipping nectar while their children's corpses were scattered all over Camp Half-Blood like fallen angels. The thought made his thoughts cloud with absolute rage._

_This wasn't happening. Luke squeezed his shut even more. It was just a nightmare. Unsurprisingly, those words didn't hold much comfort._

"_The gods are plague on this land," the voice continued._

Luke swallowed and met the younger boy's eyes evenly. "He spoke to you too, Percy. You should've listened."

"He's brainwashing you, Luke," Percy warned, hand twitching slightly towards his sword as the scorpion crept even higher.

"You're wrong," Luke said forcefully, glaring. "He showed me that my talents are being wasted. You know what my quest was two years ago, Percy? My father, Hermes, wanted me to steal a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides and return it to Olympus. After all the training I'd done, _that _was the best thing he could think up."

"That's not an easy quest. Hercules did it."

_The voice lowered. "If it weren't for the efforts of half-bloods, the gods would have been overthrown. If it wasn't for godlings like _you_, the gods would have fallen from Olympus down to the depths of Tartarus long ago. So unappreciated," the voice soothed. "So unloved."_

_Luke breathed raggedly out his mouth, shoulders relaxing as he soaked in the voice's words. They were right. Completely right. How had the gods ever thanked them? They used them like pawns and threw them away when they got tired. No happily ever after – nothing. Just a life of laurel wreathes and glorified errands._

"_Yes," Luke murmured._

"_What has you father ever done for you? For all your prayers and sacrifices, what has he given you? _Other _than giving you the 'honor' of completing a quest that had already been accomplished. What has Hermes done for you, other than let you suffer your entire life?"_

"Exactly," Luke croaked. "Where's the glory in repeating what others have done? All the gods know how to do is replay their past. My heart wasn't in it. The dragon in the garden gave me this"—he jabbed a finger it the pale, white scare beneath his eyes—"and when I came back, all I got was pity. I wanted I wanted to pull Olympus down stone by stone then, but I bided my time. I began to dream of Kronos. He convinced me to steal something worthwhile, something no hero had ever had the courage to take. When we went on that winter-solstice field trip, while the other campers were asleep, I snuck into the throne room and took Zeus's master bolt right from his chair. Hades's helm of darkness, too. You wouldn't believe how easy it was. The Olympians are so arrogant; they never dreamed someone would dare steal from them. Their security is horrible. I was halfway across New Jersey before I heard the storms rumbling, and I knew they'd discovered my theft."

The scorpion was sitting on Percy's knee now, but he kept his voice level. "So why didn't you bring the items to Kronos?"

Luke's smile wavered. "I ... I got overconfident. Zeus sent out his sons and daughters to find the stolen bolt— Artemis, Apollo, my father, Hermes. But it was Ares who caught me. I could have beaten him, but I wasn't careful enough. He disarmed me, took the items of power, threatened to return them to Olympus and burn me alive. Then Kronos's voice came to me and told me what to say. I put the idea in Ares's head about a great war between the gods. I said all he had to do was hide the items away for a while and watch the others fight. Ares got a wicked gleam in his eyes. I knew he was hooked. He let me go, and I returned to Olympus before anyone noticed my absence." Luke drew Backbiter and ran his hand along the beautiful and deadly blade. "Afterward, the Lord of the Titans ... h-he punished me with nightmares. I swore not to fail again. Back at Camp Half-Blood, in my dreams, I was told that a second hero would arrive, one who could be tricked into taking the bolt and the helm the rest of the way—from Ares down to Tartarus."

Percy's face adopted a betrayed, accusing glare. "You summoned the hellhound, that night in the forest."

_Idiot_, Luke thought. Who else? Grover? "We had to make Chiron think the camp wasn't safe for you, so he would start you on your quest. We had to confirm his fears that Hades was after you." He looked up from his new sword and gave the kid a reptilian smile. "And it worked."

"The flying shoes were cursed," he guessed. "They were supposed to drag me and the backpack into Tartarus."

"And they would have, if you'd been wearing them." _You little liar, _he thought. _Handy indeed._ "But you gave them to the satyr, which wasn't part of the plan. Grover messes up everything he touches. He even confused the curse."

Luke stared at the scorpion idly. "You should have died in Tartarus, Percy. But don't worry, I'll leave you with my little friend to set things right."

"Thalia gave her life to save you," Percy accused. "And this is how you repay her?"

Luke's temper flared. How dare that little sea spawn talk to _him _about her death. "Don't speak of Thalia!" he shouted. "The gods let her die! That's one of the many things they will pay for."

_The voice laughed condescendingly. "What have the gods _ever_ done for their children? Zeus didn't even save Thalia Grace. He turned her into a tree; she wasn't a _daughter_, only a danger, a threat—"_

_Luke could feel the rough bark of her pine tree rub against his arm._

"_I can bring her back, Luke," the voice comforted. "_I _can do what Zeus failed to accomplish. All you must do is steal the master bolt of Zeus."_

_Thalia… It wasn't fair. She was a hero, she sacrificed herself for them and Zeus. Didn't. Care. The son of Hermes's eyes finally opened to glare up into the sky. The gods would fall. He'd make sure of it. They would pay._

"You're being used, Luke. You and Ares both. Don't listen to Kronos."

"I've been used?" Luke's voice took on a shrill, wild tone. "Look at yourself. What has your dad ever done for you? Kronos will rise," he swore. "You've only delayed his plans. He will cast the Olympians into Tartarus and drive humanity back to their caves. All except the strongest—the ones who serve him."

"Call off the bug," Percy ordered, raising his chin defiantly. "If you're so strong, fight me yourself"

Luke silently debated whether or not to just lop off the kids head and be done with it, but the pit scorpion already had the sea spawn as good as dead. Not to mention, there was no knowing just what Percy was capable of now. Luke had spent the entire time underestimating the kid. It wouldn't happen again.

Luke pasted on an easy smile. "Nice try, Percy. But I'm not Ares. You can't bait me. My lord is waiting, and he's got plenty of quests for me to undertake."

"Luke—"

He stared at the kid solemnly before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Good-bye, Percy. There is a new Golden Age coming. You won't be part of it."

A week later, Silena Beauregard informed Luke that Percy still lived. And he wished with every fiber of his being that he had just run the little nuisance through.

* * *

Luke's stomach twisted painfully as he poisoned Thalia's tree, watching mutedly as its needles turned brown. This wasn't what he had in mind at all. Kronos was his master, and he would do his bidding, but this…

The bark made a strange hissing noise like it was about to blow and some of its branches were already starting to wither.

Well, Luke thought the Titan would take a different approach to resurrecting his friend.

Kronos assured him that Percy would play his part like the good little pawn he was, but Luke couldn't help but be wary. If the sea spawn failed, then Thalia will be truly gone. And if she – no. That's not an option. Percy Jackson _had_ to retrieve the Fleece. If he didn't, all consequences be screwed to Tartarus, Luke would kill the kid himself.

Luke dully realized that if he was thirteen, he never would've thought of murder. It shouldn't bother him. Luke was a stupid, naïve _child_, after all. Heck, he barely remembered that year, but he was pretty sure he was robbing candy stores. Still, he wondered if he'd changed too much. And maybe, just maybe, not for the better.

Luke scowled and shook that thought out of his head. No. What he was doing was justice, there's nothing to feel guilty about. The gods can't keep treating their children as tools or errand boys. It's time for a stand. And that's what Luke told himself when he saw Percy Jackson again.

Luke found it a bit odd that it was the same three from the last quest, but that's so like Camp Half-Blood. So against new ideas and chances, one screw up and it game over.

Backbiter was at the son of Poseidon's throat before Annabeth could even register that Luke was there. Pathetic. And here he thought he'd actually have some _good_, _competent _opponents on his hands instead of the new recruits that couldn't tell a blade from a handle.

"Hey, cuz," Luke said. "Welcome back to the States." And he thought they'd already won.

But slowly, his plan – and calm façade – cracked bit after bit as Percy tricked him with the Iris-message, stalled Luke from flying after Clarisse, and was saved by the Party Ponies. The kid stole his pegasus too.

So maybe Percy wasn't a complete idiot.

* * *

Sweat dripped down Luke's face and he stared into those familiar, beautiful blue eyes in numb pain. This wasn't what he expected at all. Everything was crumbling around him, leaving him isolated with nothing but a gold sarcophagus, an evil blade (which he didn't even have at the moment), and an army made up of both demigods and monsters that he didn't dare turn his back to for a second.

"Well?" Luke croaked, doing his best to talk around the lump in his throat. Gods, _that _glare was never meant to be directed at him. At monsters and mortals low enough to hurt a couple of "defenseless" teenagers, but never him.

Thalia trembled with blatant fury as Annabeth, bruised and dirty with a grey streak marring her blond locks, struggled out of her bonds and screamed, "Don't kill him!"

Luke closed his eyes briefly. So this was what it boiled down to. Thalia Grace and Annabeth Chase, his two girls, the ones he trusted more than anything in the entire world, arguing over whether he lived or died. Talk about girl issues.

"He's a traitor," Thalia accused, raising her spear threateningly. "A traitor!"

"We'll bring Luke back," the daughter of Athena begged. "To Olympus. He…he'll be useful." Annabeth was never one to give up easily, especially now that she was a beautiful young woman…. Where in the freaking depths of Tartarus did _that_ come from?

Luke shook that thought out of his head, sneer in place. "Is that what you want, Thalia? To go back to Olympus as a hero? Too please your dad?"

Luke knew he'd hit a nerve even before the girl flinched. That was one of the many secrets Thalia had shared with him in confidence. One of the deepest truths she kept buried. And here Luke was throwing it right back into her face.

_Thalia, sopping wet and makeup running, looked absolutely nothing like the fierce daughter of Zeus that Luke knew. Her eyes appeared more like a rainy grey than electric blue, and it pained Luke to look at them. At her. To look and see Thalia so vulnerable and small was worse than coming face to face a Fury._

_Luke felt her forehead and winced. Thalia was burning up, and they'd already used what little nectar they had. Luke dabbed at her face with a damp rag that came from Zeus knows where, keeping her head in his lap._

"_Are…" She choked a little, and her eyes glanced around their safe house, not focusing on anything. "Are you ever curious?"_

_Luke hesitated, looking down at her in confusion. "About what?"_

_Thalia wet her lips and clumsily brushed her sweaty locks out of her face. "If you're hero?"_

_The son of Hermes furrowed his brow. "We kill monsters and—"_

_Thalia shook her head. "No. I mean—I meant if your dad thinks you're one. Yeah, we've killed lots of things, and we're hanging in there, but is that enough to make a god proud? Even if they are our dads?"_

_Luke stared. It could've been just the fever talking, but it sounded too…accurate to just be a sickbed confession. Too thought through._

"_All" – Thalia let out a watery laugh – "all I ever wanted was to make him proud. To show him I'm a hero, and I'm just as good as-as any—" _

_A sob tore its way from her throat, and Luke hugged her tight, rocking her back and forth. This was worse than anything he'd ever faced. This was a scared little girl hiding behind Aegis and a leather jacket, and seeing Thalia like this made Luke feet like he was looking into a mirror._

_When the daughter of Zeus finally calmed into a state of hiccups and exhaustion, Luke buried his face in her hair and muttered, "I wonder that every day."_

In a desperate burst of adrenaline, Luke made a desperate grab for her spear.

Electric blue eyes narrowed the same time grey eyes widened. "No!" Annabeth shouted. But it was too late. Luke should've known that Thalia wouldn't just sit pretty while he disarmed her. On reflex, the daughter of Zeus kicked her former friend away.

Annabeth's scream was the last thing he heard before it all went black. Stupid garden. No matter how hard he tried or _who _he had on his side, Luke could never win there.

* * *

"Annabeth," Luke begged. "Come with me. We'll run away together—us against the world. Just like how it was before. I _know _you miss it. I miss it. Please…"

The daughter of Athena's hand crept to her hip, no doubt reaching for the dagger he gave her all those years ago. She swallowed but that didn't make her look any less intimating. "I don't believe you."

Those four little words felt made Luke feel like she was kicking his Achilles spot. "We can be a family again," he tried.

Grey eyes bore into his, and he wondered just when she stopped being a little girl and started being a clever, fierce half-blood that'd make any god proud. "I think it's a little late for that."

Luke felt like he was dying now. "Kronos…" The air turned colder, and he shut his eyes, releasing a shaky breath. "…he has plans for me. A-and I _can't_ do it. Please," he pleaded, feeling completely shameless even though he was groveling now. "Annabeth, I need you."

Her guarded expression didn't even falter at his confession. Here he was, bearing his heart for all to see, and she couldn't have possibly cared less. Annabeth raised her chin and pushed her shoulders back, striking a remarkable resemblance to her mother.

She sucked in a small breath and met his eyes dead on. "But I don't need you."

Luke stayed on her porch even after she shut the door in his face.

Annabeth wasn't lying, and he wondered just when _that _change occurred. He and Thalia were her family. They found her all alone with nothing but a hammer to defend herself with, and they immediately took her in. Annabeth needed a big sister, but most of all, she need _him_. So just who would Annabeth choose over—

Luke's blood went cold. Jackson. Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon and the most unreliable pawn anyone could ever have. Of course. Who _else_ could it _possibly_ be?

He walked away wishing he had just killed the kid when he had the chance.

* * *

"Family, Luke," Annabeth said, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and eyes shining with unshed tears. "You promised."

Ironic, considering the last time the two actually talked, but nevertheless, Luke fought for control. He could see Percy and Grover struggle towards the blonde, but Kronos was too strong for them. Too strong for all of them.

"We made a deal," she whispered again, too quiet for anyone but Luke to hear.

_The blonde screamed and kicked and almost nailed him in his soft spot. "No more monsters!" she shrieked. "Go away!"_

_"It's okay!" Luke tried to comfort her, which wasn't super easy considering how much she was fussing. "Thalia, put your shield up. You're scaring her."_

_Thalia immediately tapped Aegis, and it shrank into a silver bracelet. "Hey, it's all right," she said, holding her hands up nonthreateningly. "We're not going to hurt you. I'm Thalia. This is Luke."_

_"Monsters!" she accused. Screw his Aegis theory, this girl just did not like to be held._

_"No," Luke promised. "But we know all about monsters. We fight them too."_

_Slowly, the girl stopped struggling. She studied the older kids with large grey eyes, and Luke got the vibe that, in some ways, she was a lot more intelligent than both of them combined. It was a pretty big blow to his ego, but still…_

_"You're like me?" she said suspiciously, eyes studying them, calculating._

_"Yeah," Luke said. "We're . . . well, it's hard to explain, but we're monster fighters." A major understatement, but he wasn't completely sure if the little girl would be ready to embrace the whole half-blood concept just yet. "Where's your family?"_

_"My family hates me," the girl said, little arms starting to tremble in Luke's grip. "They don't want me. I ran away."_

_Thalia and Luke locked eyes. Oh, they knew exactly what she was talking about. They knew how the little girl felt better than anyone._

_"What's your name, kiddo?" Thalia asked._

_She raised her chin a little. "Annabeth."_

_Luke smiled softly, hoping it didn't come across as creepy. He didn't do kids. "Nice name. I tell you what, Annabeth – you're pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you."_

_Annabeth's eyes widened, and all suspicion and cunning intelligence gone, she looked just like a little girl. Scared and all alone and starving. "You could?"_

_"Oh, yeah." Luke turned his new knife and offered her the handle. "How'd you like a real monster-slaying weapon? This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer."_

_Maybe under most circumstances, offering a seven-year-old kid a knife would not be a good idea, but when you're a half-blood, regular rules kind of go out the window._

_Annabeth gripped the hilt._

_"Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters," Luke explained. "They don't have the reach or power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I have a feeling you're pretty clever."_

_Annabeth stared at him with adoration. "I am!" _

_Thalia grinned. "We'd better get going, Annabeth. We have a safe house on the James River. We'll get you some clothes and food."_

_"You're…you're not going to take me back to my family?" she said. "Promise?"_

_Luke put his hand on her shoulder. "You're part of our family now. And I promise I won't let anything hurt you. I'm not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?"_

_"Deal!" Annabeth said softly, eyes filling with pure faith as she looked up to him._

Luke staggered, gaining a sliver of control. He stared at Annabeth's bloody face and the familiar knife she clutched in her hand. "_Promise_."

The son of Hermes gasped, struggling to maintain dominance over his body. _Di immortales_, Kronos was strong. "Annabeth…" Luke stumbled forward uncoordinatedly. "You're bleeding," he said, dazed.

Annabeth licked the blood off her lips. "My knife." She tried to raise her weapon, but it fell out of her shaky hand, clanging loudly onto the marble floor. Annabeth looked to the sea spawn. "Percy, please…"

The leader of Camp Half-Blood surged forward and scooped up her knife. He swiftly knocked Backbiter out of Luke's hands so quickly he didn't even see what maneuver the son of Poseidon used. The wicked blade skidded into the hearth, but Luke hardly cared.

Annabeth was hurt and that was all that mattered at the moment. He took a clumsy step forward, obviously powerless to harm her, but Percy immediately jumped between them.

Feet apart and shoulders set and sea green orbs darkening dangerously, Percy practically growled, "Don't touch her."

Luke looked into the kid's eyes, and it suddenly clicked together like a strange, abstract puzzle. Percy's eyes were full of justified hate and power, but lurking underneath it all was a betrayed, broken look made specially for Luke. Oh gods. He knew exactly where he had seen those eyes before. Luke had seen them long ago, before he snuffed out their trusting glimmer.

The first time Luke ever saw him, the kid gave him candy.

At the time, he was just a random, everyday boy hanging out at Sweet on America with a big, dimpled smile and animated sea green eyes. All of his mom's coworkers would smile at him and sneak him little treats when they thought no one was looking, and he talked to practically everyone that walked by.

And then there was Luke. A thirteen year-old runaway all alone and hungry enough to sink so low as to rob a candy store. Pitiful.

_The teen shuffled his feet a little in hesitation before subtly slipping a chocolate bar into the inside of his jacket, cursing himself for not being rational with what little money he started out with. Stealing was low and dishonest, and it made him feel unbearably guilty, but it was either that or starving. Or worse, going home. That wasn't even an option._

_Luke swallowed down his remorse and was just two little steps from the red, white, and blue doors when a little, preadolescent voice said accusingly, "You didn't pay for that."_

_The runaway sucked in a shaky breath and turned around, cursing under his breath. Crap. If this kid tattled… "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied._

_The little boy frowned, kicking his feet in the air from the too tall chair he was perched on in the corner. The kid was young, at least five or six, and he was wearing a Tigger T-shirt and flip flops, tightly holding onto a clear plastic bag filled to the brim with blue candy._

_Luke's blood boiled a little with envy. Oh, he knew what kind of kid he was. He was someone with a nice, loving, normal mom, not some freak job like his. The runaway grit his teeth a little. He would give anything to have what that boy had._

_The kid's eyebrows squished together and he stared up into the bigger boy's eyes. "Really?" he asked, a little unsure._

_Luke nodded his head once. "Cross my heart." That line always worked with kids._

_The younger boy's face softened in naïve belief before hardening into a distrusting stare. "Oh yeah? Then where's your receipt?"_

_Or not. Dang it. Too good to be true. Luke sighed and his shoulders slumped in shame and loss. Ratted out by a six year-old. Brilliant. _

_He raised his hands in defeat. "Okay. You got me, kid," he said frustratedly, reaching into his jacket to tug out the Hershey's bar._

"_Here," he continued bitterly, tossing the candy bar onto the clean, wood floors where it skittered to the little boy's elevated feet. "Take your stupid chocolate."_

_He didn't need it. He'd be just fine. At least that was what he was trying to tell himself. His stomach felt like it was starting to eat itself, and he was feeling constantly dizzy. He'd been on his own since he was nine, but now he was actually starting to shoot up a bit, and oh gods, he was so hungry. To his horror, he felt something wet run down his pale, hollowed cheeks. Luke quickly brushed his tears away. Crying in front of a little kid was just unforgivable._

_He whirled around and stomped out the candy store. Stupid kid. He had a nice, loving mom who'd give him all the food he wanted and didn't give him nightmares. He didn't know what it felt like to starve, to be alone and unarmed against monsters so horrible and bloodthirsty that sleep was too risky to even think about. The kid didn't know what it felt like to see monsters no one else did – a freak show with ADHD and dyslexia. He was just a six year-old who didn't understand what it took to survive in a demigod's world._

_The teen almost missed the quiet, padded footsteps coming up behind him. "Hey!"_

_Luke closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath. "What now? Need a pat down to check if I have anything else hidden on me?"_

_The boy's chubby, young face scrunched up into a scowl, but he looked more like a mental chipmunk than anything else. "You're kind of mean," he muttered. The kid looked at Luke with a triumphant smile before holding his blue themed candy bag out to him like it was the most precious thing in the world._

_The older boy only stared blankly. What the Hades was he doing now?_

_Seeing his confused look, the kid held out his hand higher and urged, "Here. Take it."_

_Luke blinked before hesitantly reaching out, feeling awkward. "Wow, kid. Uh, thanks," he said a little disbelievingly. "You're sure you don't want it?"_

_The six year-old smiled a little and shrugged. "Blue's my least favorite flavor anyways."_

_That wasn't the truth. He didn't know exactly why – maybe it was a perk of being Hermes's son, but the demigod was really good at distinguishing between honesty and lies. It wasn't exactly hard to tell that the kid was giving up his favorite candies for a complete stranger. _

_Nevertheless, the runaway grabbed them, stuffing the bag into his worn out backpack. "Thanks," he said, ignoring the lump in his throat. Luke gave him a small, surprised smile and ruffled the boy's hair. "Means a lot, kid."_

_Percy just smiled up at him with natural innocence and happiness glimmering in his young eyes._

This wasn't the naïve, trusting boy who stumbled into Cabin 11 anymore, awkward and unsure of himself. And it definitely wasn't the innocent little boy with a dimpled smile who gave it candy. No, this was a capable young man, brave enough to stand up to a Titan and who wanted nothing more than to keep his family safe. And _Luke _was the reason they were in danger. For the first time, the son of Hermes felt an aura of power that rivaled even Kronos's.

Luke's control wavered. "Jackson…"

_No! _he told himself. _Think of Annabeth, Thalia—Grover. You can't let them down! Not again. _Luke gasped. "He's changing. Help. He's…he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please—"

His body felt both unbearably cold and hot at the same time, and Kronos bellowed, "NO!" The Titan stumbled towards the hearth, reaching for his sword. Percy tried to stop him, but Kronos pushed him out of the way with such force he landed next to Annabeth and hit his head on the base of Athena's throne with a sickening crack.

Kronos reached for his scythe only to pull back, howling in pain. Luke seized control again and collapsed, clutching his hands. "Please, Percy…"

Percy struggled to his feet and glided towards his foe. The son of Poseidon stood over Luke, baring Annabeth's dagger – the cursed blade.

The son of Hermes wet his lips. No, Percy'd never find the Achilles spot. And even if he did, there was no guaranteeing that he'd be able to keep Kronos under wraps. "You can't…can't do it yourself. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can…can keep him controlled."

Luke's skin screamed in agony, like the Titan was barbequing him from the inside out.

Percy raised the knife to strike. Then, he looked at Annabeth and Grover, who was cradling her in his arms, trying to protect her, and Luke could see that Percy had put the pieces together too.

"Please," Luke moaned urgently, pure fear gripping his heart over what he was about to do. "No time."

Percy slowly, unsurely turned the knife around and raised its handle out to the son of Hermes. His eyes were panicked and wary, but Luke could've almost convinced himself that he was a teen again. And Percy was just a little boy, only instead of an orange top with Tigger's face pasted onto it, he was wearing a Camp Half-Blood shirt and Greek, leather armor. And instead of the cursed blade that would end his days, he was taking a small bag of candy.

Yes, he told himself. That's it. Luke's stomach was still filled with terror and his arms shook in agony. He twisted the knife around and struggled with a strap on his armor, telling himself that it was just that faulty zipper on his backpack. That he wasn't about to…

Luke closed his eyes and drove the blade into his Achilles' spot and screamed in agony. It burned every bit of his being like he was back in the Styx, it felt like he was being severed from the world. Every breath felt like he was bearing the weight of the sky again.

"Good…blade," Luke grit out.

Percy knelt next to him, eyes unreadable, but Luke focused his attention on Annabeth in daze. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew…"

Tears gathered in her eyes and she whispered, "Shhh. You were a hero in the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

Luke managed to (very painfully) shake his head. "Think…rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."

Annabeth sniffled, tears starting to finally drop. "You always pushed yourself too hard."

And that was just the problem. Wasn't it? Luke raised his hand, and Annabeth touched his fingertips.

"Did you…" Luke coughed up blood, fighting to breathe. "Did you love me?"

Annabeth's face took on a guarded, distracted look, and she bit her lip. "There was a time I thought…well, I thought…" Her grey eyes darted over to Percy before resting back on Luke. "You were like a brother to me, Luke," she said quietly. Her grey eyes hardened in relaxed assurance. "But I didn't love you."

It hurt, but it wasn't unexpected. Percy and Annabeth. The kid who he met in a candy store, and the girl he adopted in an alley. Who would've thought? Luke nodded, fighting back a cry of pain.

"We can get ambrosia," Grover spoke up. "We can—"

"Grover. You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no," Luke said with finality. "There's no healing…" His body racked with coughs, and he gripped Percy's sleeve tightly. Luke eyes bore into the son of Poseidon's. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it… Don't let it happen again."

It was cruel to be asking so much of Percy, but he fought Ares when he was just a kid. He foiled Luke's and Kronos's plans over and over again, and bore the weight of the sky without the curse of Achilles and refused the let it crush him. Percy…the demigod who rallied the camp for what could've been their final stand here in Manhattan. If anyone could _possibly _keep the gods in check, it was Percy Jackson.

"I won't," Percy said. "I promise."

Luke gave looked up at him with nothing but trust in his eyes and just before he closed his eyes, he thought, _I was wrong about you, Percy. We were all wrong._

_You're a hero._

* * *

_**Complete**_


End file.
